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HONESTY: 

a Drama, 

BY 

HENRY SPICER, Esq. 

AUTHOR OF " THE LORDS OF ELLINGHAM," "LOST AND WON," &c. 



Price Four Shilling*. 



! 



HONESTY: 



a Drama, 



IN FIVE ACTS. 



HONESTY: 

a ffirama, 

IN FIVE ACTS. 



By HENRY SPICER, Esq. 

AUTHOR OF " THE LORDS OF ELLINGHAM," " LOST AND WON," &c. 



There's somewhat in this world amiss 
Shall be unriddled by and by." 



LONDON: 
G. W. NICKISSON, 215 REGENT STREET. 

M.DCCC.XLII. 



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JL// 



Ax 



LONDON: 

PRINTED BY MOYES AND BARCLAY, CASTLE STREET, 
LEICESTER SQUARE. 



PREFACE 



The publication of a third unacted play is an 
attack upon the good-nature of one's friends, that 
seems to require something like explanation, if not 
apology. 

Those, then, which were intended for the vital 
parts (so to speak) of the following drama, were 
written at a time when the prospect was held out of 
the representation of one of my plays, during the 
then curient season, upon those boards where, if 
powerful acting, liberality, and taste in the mise en 
seine, could have supplied the absence of vigorous 
writing, all Lad surely gone well. 

The piece, however, was not completed in time, 
and the production of a former one — the Lords of 
Ellingham — altered for the purpose — was pre- 
vented (solely, as I was given to understand) by a 
temporary illness that induced me to delay, for a 
short time, accepting the proposal of the manage- 



VI PREFACE. 

ment, to which, at any other moment, I should 
have delightedly acceded. 

Perhaps, had the time expended in re-writing 
two plays heen less completely at my own disposal, 
I might have more deeply regretted my dependence 
upon the good faith of those parties who thought 
fit to keep expectation alive, with, at least, ques- 
tionable intentions of fulfilling it. 

This, and other circumstances having somewhat 
damped the eagerness and pleasure with which I 
once looked forward to the representation of any 
piece from my hand, I have aimed less at dramatic 
effect, in the following pages, than at the completion 
of a story of sufficient general interest to amuse 
the friendly few who are likely to peruse it. 

H. S. 



6 Upper Grosvenor Street, 
October 24, 1842. 



CHARACTERS. 



\ Suitors to Julia. 



MEN. 

Sir Philip Lancaster, of honourable descent and enormous 

wealth. 
Douglas Trafford, Cousin, and the favoured suitor, of Julia. 
Lord Seyle, ^ 
Pembroke, 
mordaunt, 
Gosselin, 
Sandell, 

Francis Gage, an Advocate. 
Cyril, his brother. 
Deverell, a knavish usurer. 
Fairfax, Steward to Trafford,. 

WOMEN. 

Julia, only child of Lancaster. 

Infelice, an Italian orphan, betrayed by Trafford. 

Judges, Creditors, other suitors of Julia, Soldiers, Bailiffs, 
Servants, fyc. fyc. 

Scene. — London and the environs. 



HONESTY. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— A SALOON IN TRAFFORD'S HOUSE. 

It appears in great confusion, as from an over-night feast. 
Chairs displaced — cups strewn about — with cards, dice, 
6fc. Servants arranging the disorder. 

first servant (yawning). 
Trust me, a hearty revel ! Be there many 
Such, and so loud ? 

SECOND SERVANT. 

Our Christian week, sir, holds 

Seven days. Be thankful they're not eight. Thou'rt spared 

One banquet weekly. 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Seven feasts i' the week ! 
But, sure, the Sabbath 

B 



2 HONESTY. [Act I. 

SECOND SERVANT. 

O, sir, 'tis observed. 

Dice are forbid — ('tis true, the wine-cask bleeds) — 

No songs — (but then the jest and roaring tale 

Fill up the void). They feast — gape — snore . . . andlo! 

Tis Monday — and the dice at large again. 

FIRST SERVANT {looking TOWfloV), 

He must be wealthy. Surely 'tis our fault 
If we don't thrive. 

SECOND SERVANT. 

It is right shrewdly said. 

Pity thy wisdom comes so late a-field ! 

This is a world of change — a knavish world — 

A very slippery and uncertain world ; 

And if we lag and sleep, the while it turns, 

'Tis ten to one our places are supplied 

By better tumblers. Mark this cup, now. — Gold — 

Enchased, they call it. Curious figures round 

Enhance its native worth. You see it ? Nay, 

Look closer yet. You see it? 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Plainly. 

SECOND SERVANT. 

Good. 

I put it in my pocket. (Conceals it.) 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Well? 

SECOND SERVANT. 

That's all : 

1 put it in my pocket. Gold, sir, is 

A marketable metal. 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 3 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Aye, but- 

SECOND SERVANT {points aCTOSS). 

Look !— 

There stands a pepper-castor — massive gold — 

Sworn brother to the goblet. Put it up. 

You pause? Permit me. {Pockets it.) Now, sir, to 

explain 
My somewhat hasty doings — simply know 
Our master's finished. 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Eh? 

SECOND SERVANT. 

Concluded, sir, — 

Thrown his last cast — disbursed his final crown — 

And some few more. 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Nay, then, to business. This {secreting plate, Sfc.) 

For wages due — next year. — This, to repay 

My loss of service. — This — hey! — stop! — 'tis he ! 

And who comes with him ? {Looks out.) Fairfax. 
second servant {snaps his finger s). 

That for him ! 

He is as great a — that's to say, as wise 

As you or I. Shall we withdraw ? Away, then. 

[As they retire, Trafford enters, Fair- 
fax following with papers, Sfc. 
Trafford paces the room in agita- 
tion. 



FAIRFAX. 



TBAFFORD. 



FAIRFAX. 



4 HONESTY. [Act I. 

TRAFFORD. 

Plate? — Jewels? 

Gone. 

My armoury? 

Gone too. 

'Twas the Lord Seyle 

trafford (pausing). 
Ha! Seyle? 

FAIRFAX. 

Alack! — I knew 

He hath your hatred — but, what help ? — He said 

In charity he bought it. — Dealt with you 

For charity! — Heaven pardon him! His eye 

Flickered with malice, as he mumbled that 

The rats, which did infest his household, might 

Henceforth have lodgings cheap. And so, with more 

Ill-favoured, apish grins, and pointless jests, 

Cast me his purse ; but 'twas of slight avail, 

For fifty parched and droughty mouths did catch 

The golden drops — aye, almost ere they fell. 

TRAFFORD. 

Go — sell my horses. 

FAIRFAX. 

Pardon, sir : that's done. 

There's not a hair, black, sorrel, brown, or bay, 

Housed in your stalls. 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 5 

TRAFFORD. 

Psha ! — sir — 'tis fiction ! What — 
How — must I beg? What have I left? 

Fairfax {counting on his fingers). 
Your rings. 
Your garments — your 

trafford (seizing him furiously). 
Knave ! dost thou rob thy lord, 
And mock him after ? If thy dismal tale 
Be true, the proof on 't. Wherefore didst not speak 
Of this? 

Fairfax (sullenly). 
I did. The fault was in those ears 
That would not listen to unwelcome truths. 
I told you we were beggars. " Beggars, ha!" 
So you replied — "Pity the foot-sore knaves; 
Let them be fed and seen to." Next, perchance, 
Some banquet was ordained, and when 1 said 
To pay that feast, your horses must — " Ha ! horse ! 
Clean-limbed and full? Is he of caste and blood? 
Let him be bought." Then if, in sheer despair, 
I dashed the empty coffer on the floor, 
And, fan wise, flourishing these pleasant scrolls, 
Commanded your brief notice, — " Out!" you cried — 
" Hence with these follies now ! Til look to them 
To-morrow — or the next day — or, perhaps, 
The next" 

TRAFFORD. 

Enough, sir — cut this lecture short : 



6 HONESTY. [Act I. 

Seek Deverell out— the crafty usurer, 
And bid him 

FAIRFAX. 

He will lend no more. 'Tis worse — 
He has been loud for present satisfaction 
Of monies long fall'n due. Yet more I dread 
His sudden quiet. He's a beast that loves 
An ambush to his soul ! 

tr afford (agitated). 
To be struck down 

Within a leap of safety ! Three short months 
Of closer suit had won me the fair child 

Of wealthy Lancaster, — and Fellow thou — 

Hast thou dealt truly with me ? Proofs of this — 
Thy proofs ? 

FAIRFAX {coolly). 

A legion, sir. 

[Opens a door at the back, through which 
enter a number of persons of mean 
appearance — creditors of Tr afford. 
Fairfax retires. 
tr afford {starting back). 
Am I beset 
With thieves? My steward, sirs, shall 

FIRST CREDITOR. 

Sir, our throats 

Are hoarse with pressing him for aid ; our feet 
Weary with tracking him. He bade us hither, 
Saying that when you saw our wasted mien, 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 

And ragged robes, you could not choose but hear, 
And give us monies — he himself had none. 

trafford {after a pause addressing one). 
Your claim ? 

FIRST CREDITOR. 

Tis quickly said. You owe me, sir, 

A poor five hundred crowns. That's, to your worship, 

A supper missed — to me, existence. Sir, 

Fever attacked my house. No leech was there 

To stop the plague — no nurse to soothe — no priest 

To whisper comfort. My young son was seized, 

And ta'en to sea. I could not buy him off: 

These woes broke down my father's heart. Last night 

The old man died. 

TRAFFORD. 

A sad tale, briefly told. 
Well, sir, your claim? 

SECOND CREDITOR. 

Your steward came to me 

Weeping, and cursing the hard fate that made him 
Slave to a thriftless lord. He knew my soul 
Did teem with gracious feelings, as my purse 
With cash ; and still his cry was gold — gold — gold- 
Give him but gold, and — so Heaven prosper him — 
It should be paid — yea, trebly. . . .By my heart, 
I could not see the old man weep, and tear 
Locks white as these. I pledged my house, my land, 
Yea, all my substance — gave him what he sought, 
And, for return, am beggared. For the debt, 
I will forgive it — noble sir, — I will — 



8 HONESTY. [Act I. 

Being no usurer — give but half—- mark that — 
But half mine own. 

TRAFFORD. 

Enough — stand back, old friend. 
We'll speak again. And thou? 

THIRD CREDITOR. 

I dealt in gems. 

The Lady Julia 

trafford (hastily). 
So — the pearls. Go on. 
But to the tale. What next ? 

THIRD CREDITOR. 

Good sir, no more, — 

No more ; for, with those priceless gems, was strung 

The hoarding of a life. My credit's gone 

From too much faith in your nobility ; 

And I, once rich in good report, am called 

Rogue, cheat, and thief! Sir, you may pay the debt — 

Save me from starving — give me back the gems — 

But you have crushed a fairer pearl than all — 

Mine honourable name. 

FIRST CREDITOR. 

O, sir, reflect ! 

Sickness and Famine — these are dreary guards 

Before our daily threshold. 

SECOND CREDITOR. 

Sir, the law 

Would aid us — aye, and surely — but we'd trust 

Your goodness rather. 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 9 



THIRD CREDITOR. 

But the means to cure 
My wounded name 



Is 
■5 






FIRST CREDITOR. 

The sick ones, sir, at home ! 

SECOND CREDITOR. 

Half, sir ; but half! 

FIRST CREDITOR. 

Something the while for food. 

SEVERAL. 

Sir — sir — in pity! 

tr afford {apart). 
And this work is mine. 

I — /have made these poor homes desolate — 
From infant mouths kept back the wholesome food — 
Brought clouds upon the fair and prosperous morn 
Of honest industry ; trod merit down ; 
Struck from the old man's hand the crutch and stay, 
And left him prostrate ! — I — O God ! — their tales 
Cry to me with a truthful, hungry woe, 
Like half-repented sins . . . Ho there! within — 
Fairfax ! 

[Enter Deverell with Officers. 

OFFICER {tO DEVERELL). 

Our man, sir ? 

DEVERELL. 

In the gold brocade. 

Flowers spring in dungheaps; gaudy feathers root 

In rankest carrion. 

TRAFFORD. 

Villain! beast! How now? 



10 HONESTY. [Act I. 

Thou crawling, cozening slave ! dost thou lift up 
Thy heel against me ? Where's thy fawning now ? 
Thy beck, thy grins, thy honeyed speeches ? 

DEVERELL. 

Gone 

On errands of more profit. Come, sir, shape 

Your language to your state. — Why do ye pause ? 

Arrest this man. His three chief debts are mine, 

Which if he pay not, doit and stiver down, — 

Farewell this goodly day. 'Twill tease his eyes 

No more. [A Servant enters with a letter. 

SERVANT. 

Sir, from Sir Philip Lancaster, 

Urging your presence. [Exit. 

tr afford {reads eagerly). 
What ! — hum — ha ! — ha!— ha ! 
Lancaster to the rescue ! Glorious missive ! 
All's saved — all's well ! [Reads again. 

officer (aside to deverell). 
Shall we proceed, sir ? 

DEVERELL. 

Fool! 

Would you lift canvass ere you know the wind 1 

{To Trafford.) Your noble kinsman, sir, I trust, is well 

As his best friends could wish. His age 

trafford. 
Here still ? 

Be of our council then. Come hither. Read 

What say you ? 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 11 

DEYERELL (bowing). 

Sir, your very humble slave. 
Shall I be favoured with your 

TRAFFORD. 

Where's thy purse? 

Quick, sir, — so — so — hast more ? Then skip — 'Twould 

pose 
The devil, to tell which side of thy double face 
Shews uglier — slave or bully ! 

[Exeunt Deverell and Officers. 
Leave me now, 

My friends ; and mark — to-morrow each man's claim 
Shall meet due justice. Stay ! there's gold for those 
Whose wants are loudest-tongued. You, sir, away 
To your sick brood. Hold ! — take this ring — provide 
Good lodging, and withal such comfort as 
Their grief hath stomach for. Farewell ! — away ! 
And fail me not to-morrow. 

[Exeunt Creditors. Re-enter Fairfax. 
Now, good Fairfax, 

Is not this well ? Sir Philip writes me here, 
That, hearing of my suit so fondly urged 
To his fair daughter, and sole heiress — and 
Feeling that wealth so vast as must endow 
That tender spirit, asks some sterner hand 
To wield — requires me therefore put, at once, 
My hope to issue. If I win — (reading) I win 
Her heart, then. "Take her," it concludes — aye, "take her, 
Good Master Trafford — she is thine ! " O, joy ! 
O, heaven ! 



12 HONESTY. [Act I. 

FAIRFAX. 

You love her, then, sir ? 

TRAFFORD. 

Why — of course : 

She will expect it. But her wealth, man ! think 

Of that ! To stop yon howling throats — to sweep 

Out of my fortune's droughty channel, with 

This rich and bounteous stream, yon carrion flies 

That 'gin to settle there — to scatter flowers 

In her fair path whose wealth provides them ; — then, 

If there be surplusage 

FAIRFAX. 

What then ? 

TRAFFORD. 

To build 

An altar, Fortune, to thy goddesship ; 

For ever when my need has blamed thee most, 

Hast thou been near me. 

Fairfax (anxiously). 
But, sir, are you sure 

TRAFFORD. 

Of winning ? As that thou art. — Listen, sir — 
Thine ear, — nay, thou art old, and reck'st not of 
Such toys. O, Fairfax, be content — she's mine / 

[Exeunt. 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 13 



SCENE II.— A MAGNIFICENT APARTMENT IN THE HOUSE 
OF SIR PHILIP LANCASTER. 

He is seated in a large chair, Julia on a low seat at his side. 

JULIA. 

How ! leave you, sir ? Is your poor nurse become 
So rude and careless in her ministry, 

So drowsy in her vigil 

sir philip {fretfully). 
No, girl, no ! 

I said not that. Why do you ever thus 
Strive to pervert my meaning ? Wherefore daub 
In false and ugly colours, wrung from your 
Wrong fancy, my poor, honest thought ; and teach 
My servants likewise ? You believe me — aye - — 
Aye — by your winks, side-looks, and sneers, you think me 
A weak old man — a pettish, weak old man ! 
One to be dawdled, humoured, trifled with — 
Told fondling lies 

JULIA. 

Nay — nay, dear sir. 

SIR PHILIP. 

A child, 

That must be put, with soothing, sugared words, 

From dangerous asking. Why, what's seen in me 

To argue dotage ? When do I sit at gaze, 

Gibbering, and making mouths at vacancy ? — 

Call the stars comfits — think this chair my steed — 



14 HONESTY. [Act I. 

Wash hands i' the moonlight ? Daughter, I will prove 
My manhood now. — But, Julia — Julia — child, 
Tis hard that thou should'st mock me ! 

JULIA. 

If one thought 

Untempered with its most fit attributes — 

Dear love and deepest reverence — ever stirred 

Within my breast, or quickened on my lip 

In words, may the great ear of Heaven be sealed, 

For ever, 'gainst my prayer, and mostly then 

When my poor soul hath need. 

sir philip {fretfully). 
Let her speak on ! 

Still pausing — still — whene'er my soul grows warm, 
And steals into the music ! . . . . O my bird — 
My melodist ! whose song so gently chides 
My erring fancies home — when thou art caged, 
Must thou, as all thy prisoned wood mates do, 
Give up thy wilding sweetness ? I'll not think 
Of that — Alas, me ! — Warble as thou wilt, 
I shall not hear thee. [ Weeps. 

julia {apart). 
There's some painful thought — 
Or half-born purpose, struggling in his brain, 
That vainly taxes the enfeebled mind 
For aid to live. I'll humour it. . . . Dear sir, 
Why then fling forth your happy bird to find 
Some rough, exacting master, who will change 
The songs you love to weeping ? Is't to mend 
Her fortunes? — They are whole. Win pleasures ? — Why, 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 15 

I would not give — no, not for twenty thrones — 
This low stool at your feet. 

sir philip {quickly). 
Nay, but you must — 

And shall ! I'll have no glittering, foppish fools — 
Pert, feathered popinjays — come swaggering here, 
Peeping, and pointing at a fond, fair girl, 
Who — to their envy and her own lost pain — 
Wastes the bright sunshine of her happiest years 
Upon an old, gnarled tree. Owls as they are, 
There's truth in their dull croakings. 

JULIA. 

Aye — enough 

To give the lie to their wisdom. Dearest father, 

Let me be still your 

SIR PHILIP. 

Child — I need thee not. 

Love thee — how dearly ! — but I need thee not. 

Yes — thou — my music, light, and strength, and eye — 

The one green leaf crowning my wint'ry age — 

My comfortable book, wherein I read 

Sweet tales of heaven ! thou must begone, forsake 

Thy fair affections, excellent gifts — and gild 

One of that covetous myriad. To that end, 

I have bade them hither. 

julia (faintly). 
Who, my father? 

SIR PHILIP. 

Who! 

Your suitors, child. All that desire to win 

Your love or gold . Proud Pembroke — Douglas Trafford — 



16 HONESTY. [Act I. 

Thy mincing flatterer, yonder — he that sings — 
Mordaunt, the soldier — the grim miser, Seyle — 
And flocks of meaner note — all craving. I 
Proclaimed an open field, and there shall be, 
I trow, no lack of champions. 

julia (starting up). 
How, sir! make 
A market of your child ? 

sir philip (seizing her hand). 
Dare but oppose 

My will in this, and — darling as thou art — 
The knot that ties together my old life — 
I'll sever thee ! Say 'tis my will herein 
To prove thy wit and judgment. Choose thou shalt — 
Not as I point — no, no — take or reject — 
Break hearts or heal them — patch torn fortunes — shew 
Vain heads their emptiness — smile — weep — or frown — 
None shall say nay — I would not seek to bind 
Thy tender judgment to an old warped will — 
No — Heaven forbid, my child. Ho, there! — within! 

[Servants enter. 
My daughter needs her tirewomen. The guests 
Arrive ? 

SERVANT. 

The hall is thronged, sir. Some remain 
Still in the antechamber. 

sir philip (signs to Attendants). 
Here — I come. [Exeunt, 

END OF ACT I. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — THE STREET EXTERIOR OF SIR PHILIP'S 
MANSION. 

Guests arriving from time to time. — Enter F. Gage, a 
Pauper following. 

GAGE. 

Nay, spare thy thanks, man ; T rejoice with thee. 
Not I — but truth, put forth thy stifled wrongs ; 
Not I — but justice, gave them victory : 
Therefore, no more. Haste, and make glad thy home, 
And husband thy new gain. 

PAUPER. 

But, sir — dear sir — 

Touching the wage wherewith I said — (I don't 

Mean to deny it) I would pay your toil, 

Should it avail aught — you must think that, now, 

Being rich, my neighbours will expect some show 

Befitting 

gage (aside, observing guests). 
Still they come ! . . . Still more — and yet 
'Tis but a churlish revel. No fair face 

c 



18 HONESTY. [Act II. 

In all their gilded rout ! — Ha, Seyle ! Is't thou ? 
It was a spell of power made thee assume 
Thy golden tatters ! 

PAUPER. 

As I was saying, sir — 

True, I am rich; but wealth, so hardly won, 

Should be spent sparingly. If these ten crowns 

gage (aside, eagerly). 
The strangest concourse! Mordaunt, too, and Graeme — 
In faith, here will be jarring interests, 
Or rumour lies. Who next ? 

pauper (aside). 
Nay, if he cares 

No more for't — these five crowns — or three — or none — 
Sir — hem ! Good morning ! 

GAGE. 

Stay — your suit is won. 

You are rich — have plenty ; I have nor wealth, nor friend, 
Save a poor brother, hunger-sick, at home! 
(Aside.) Still they throng in. Hark, man — I am dis- 
tressed — 
Give me — or lend ! 

pauper (aside). 
So poor ! A trifle, then, 

Will answer all. My good friend, if this crown 
May help thee, take it. Justice won my cause, 
Not thou. [Exit. 

GAGE. 

Alack, poor honesty! What, Trafford! 

[Enter 'Trafford and Pembroke. 



Scene I.] HONESTY, 19 

How the knave porter cringes, as to one 

May be his lord ! They linger 

[He retires. 

PEMBROKE. 

Truly, now — 

(I have a reason for this strange demand — ) 

Hast ever loved? 

TRAFFORD. 

Loved! No — yes — no. I don't 

Precisely recollect — but, I should say, 

I never did. I've watched the sufferers, though, 

From the disorder. When the wretch sits — thus — 

With knitted brow, thinking he thinks — speaks short — 

Refuses wine — looks sheepish — cares not much 

(Bad symptom that) for play — he's sickening. When 

This calm is streaked with passion, the locked lips 

Open and curl, with sneers — that man's deceived, 

And convalescent. But if three long months 

Pass o'er him, and no change — the pulse still high — 

Sleep troubled — mind abstract — and language wild — 

He's dead and gone — in love. He's fit for nought 

But to be scarecrow to the rest. — No, no ! 

I'll be no lazar in love's hospital. 

[ They pass in. 
gage (advancing). 
I can endure no more. To question now 

Yon lackered menial Stoop, good pride. 

So, friend, [Approaches a Servant at the door. 

Sir Philip feasts to-day ? 



20 HONESTY. [Act II. 

SERVANT. 

If that your worship 
Except not to his purpose. 

GAGE. 

Courteous sir, 

I must be bold to tax your patience with 
One other question. What event imports 
This throng of manly feasters ? 

servant (surveying him impudently). 
Truly, friend, 

Thou dost not crawl at the tail of fortune's race 
Through lack of impudence. Know, then, my master 
Holds, as it were, a tournament — the course 
Being love — arms, purses — sword and lance, sweet words — 
The prize, my lady Julia ; free to all 

Of worth and breeding 

gage (eagerly). 
Speak'st the truth, thou knave ? 
Let me go in. 

SERVANT. 

Oh, yes — a likely tale ! 
Yonder's the tavern, sir. 

gage (seizing him). 
Fool ! — beast and fool ! / 

Did you not tell me — Back, or 

servant (calls loudly). 
Ho ! — within ! [Enter Steward. 

Well, sir ! What now, sir? Is your humour tamed? 
Shall we 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 21 

steward (to Servant). 
In, fool ! Ill-tongued and meddling knave, 
Who bade you flout as true a gentleman 
As any there, albeit his honest gown 
Affects not gawd or foppery ? [Exit Servant. 

Pardon him, 

Good master Gage ; I know you, and — I trust — 
So does my mistress. It was no slight aid 
You rendered yestermorn, when your prompt hand 
Reined in her frightened steed. Will you go in ? 
This way the guest-room lies — but, sir — I fear — 

[Exeunt speaking. 



SCENE II.—A SALOON. 



Sir Philip seated. — Julia beside him. — Trafford stands 
near her. — Pembroke, Lord Seyle, Sandell, Gos- 
selin, Mordaunt, and others, suitors, standing or 
walking, in conversation. 

GOSSELIN. 

Psha ! sorry jesting, was't not? 

PEMBROKE. 

Tis so old 

A loser's fashion, to abuse the game, 



22 HONESTY. [Act II. 

I hold my tongue : but I had no chance — none — 
Nor hope to win. 

SANDELL. 

Nor I. 

MORDAUNT. 

I would there were 

Less of the angel in that face ! 

seyle {aside). 
Or fewer 

In good Sir Philip's coffers. I can less 
Forgive their want. 

SIR PHILIP. 

Why, how now, gentlemen ! 
Silenced so soon ! Your merits and your claims, 
So deftly weighed and rated? When I wooed, 
I would have ta'en my sword-knot for a rope, 
And hanged myself i' the gate, ere I'd have been 
So quickly answered. One would think this wench 
Had better patience — less desire to quit 
Her old, weak, whimsical, tyrannical sire, 
Than hath been boldly spoken; and must this — 
This beauty own no lord — this princely wealth 
No master ? Fie ! What's to be done in this 
Sad strait? You, master Trafford, you alone — 
I think — of all this goodly company — 
Have not essayed if yon fair, open palm 
Hath will to close yet. 

TRAFFORD. 

O sir, I await 

My turn. What champion next ? [Enter a Servant. 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 23 

SERVANT. 

A gentleman 

Claims audience, sir, and 

SIR PHILIP. 

Bid him come. 

trafford (aside). 
Another! 

The show will ne'er be done ! Some giddy fool ! 

[Enter F. Gage. 
No — as I live, the cunning man of law 
That pleaded 'gainst me when yon beggar won 
Redress — 'twas called so — for the means wherewith 
I wrested from him what I thought my own ! 

SIR PHILIP. 

Your name is — 

gage. 
It is — Gage. 

trafford. 
More often styled 
" The beggar's advocate." 

gage (turning). 
Sir, if your wit 

Produce no fairer sample, this keen jest 
Shall draw no strife between us. 

SIR PHILIP. 

Heed him not, 

Good master — Pardon me ; my memory halts 
At a new name. Your outward fashion, sir, 
Plain though it be — endangers not your end, 



24 HONESTY. [Act II. 

So there be that within, may challenge claim 
To my child's love. 

TRAFFORD. 

Sir, he has none. 

GAGE. 

No claim ! 

No claim ! — Oh ! by that heaven whose equal will, 

Scorning man's weak and petty laws, knits up 

The rent and various fragments of this world, 

In one great family — I do put forth 

Claims great and manifold ! — I loved this lady — 

And do believe that love so hopeless, yet 

So true, doth draw into itself some part 

Of the perfection of the thing beloved — 

Breathing an essence, a sweet, natural life, 

In the else worthless void. Did I lack blood, 

This had ennobled me. Were I poor — (and 'faith, 

The ravens are my betters, seeking not 

In vain their daily bread) — this, this had been 

My mighty and exhaustless treasure-house. 

O, I have claim to all, save hope — and that 

Belongs to fairer fortunes. 

SIR PHILIP. 

Frankly said. 
Your answer, girl ? 

julia (in a low voice). 
What other, sir, than that 
Which to no stranger, like this gentleman, 
Can sound ungracious? Thanks — no more. 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 25 

GAGE. 

Indeed ! 

And such a stranger, madam, that no chance — 
No trick of juggling fortune, ever placed 
That hand in mine ? 

trafford {apart). 
What means the fellow ? He 

Clasp hands with — Why, by heaven, her brow is flame — 
And 'tis not anger, nor amazement — no ! 
Those eyes have met, too. {Aside to her.) 
Cousin — Julia — madam! 
What mystery is here ? What secret power 
Holds yon pale mummer o'er thy speaking blood ? 
How — mute ? [Approaches Sir P. and speaks aside. 

gage {aside). 
Pity and pride at strife ! . . . . Enough. 
Thou wouldst not know me, Julia ; so, indeed, 
Thou shalt not .... I mistook, sirs, and my claims 
Are even as my hopes — and that is — nothing. 

TRAFFORD. 

Then wherefore came you hither, sir ? 

GAGE. 

To glean 

One ray of honour for an ill-starred name ; 
Once to look nearly on a beautiful world 
Impervious to my tread ; perchance to paint 
In a few cold, blank, dreary words, this sea 
Of swelling passion, — then resume the path 
I ne'er had quitted — if — But who that loves 
Is wise ? I pray you, pardon, if my speech 



26 HONESTY. [Act II. 

Lacks some coherence. I have slept ill — am sick 

With toil — or tears There is no more to say~ 

Only be it recorded on my grave 

That I did love the lady Julia. [Going. 

trafford (starting forward). 
By heaven, she weeps ! Fellow, whoe'er thou art, 
Take thyself hence — or shall my grooms essay 
What weight of whipcord best may penetrate 
Thy leathern jerkin ? 

[Gage turns fiercely upon him, but 

restrains himself. The rest draw 

back. 

GAGE. 

Fear not, gentlemen— 

I am a harmless maniac— while you let 

My passion sleep . . .(Approaches Julia and speaks low.) 

Ah, lady — could you read 

The haughty spirit bowed before you here— 

This would you grant me yet. 'Tis said, your voice, 

Out of its strangely soothing melody, 

Hath made the hearers weep. O, speak to me ! 

One word — in pity — one — nay, what thou wilt — 

Presumptuous beggar — peasant — menial — slave ! 

Lady — (looks round) — I feel their mocking eyes like fire — 

Their smiles like writhing serpents. Speak, and lift 

A million worlds above their ribaldry, 

The soul that, for thy sake, hath turned from heaven, 

Loving thee more — 

trafford (coming forward). 
Enough, sir — you have urged 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 27 

This bold presumption to the limit of 
Extremest courtesy. Withdraw. You are well 
And kindly answered. 

gage {standing with folded arms before her). 
Lady — not a word? (She does not notice him.) 

trafford (enraged). 
Will you not hear me, fellow? Feel, then ! — 

[Strikes him with his riding-rod. 
Gage seizes him, and wrests 
it from his hand. Trafford 
draws. 
sir philip (starting up). 
Hold! 

Desist, young sir ! . . . Cease, Douglas : cease, I say, 
This coward brawling. O, sir — does the word 
Offend? — Your sword upon a man unarmed, 
Who but repulses your untutored rage ! 
Before my child, too? Tut! — learn better, sir. 
My friends, since these hot spirits have embroiled 
Our peaceful meeting, let us to the board, 
And you, too, master Advocate. — Nay, then, 
E'en as you choose. — Farewell. [Exit Gage. 

You, cousin Trafford, 

Who, cunning archer as thou art, hast kept 
Thine arrow back— to prove how large a crowd 
Thy better skill can shame— I pr'ythee keep not 
My daughter long in council. Till she comes 
I fast. [Exeunt all but Trafford awe? Julia. 

TRAFFORD. 

So, madam, this fair farce being done, 



28 HONESTY. [Act .11. 

And one sole puppet left upon the board, 
Will 't please you touch the wire ? 

JULIA. 

Will 't please you, then, 
Instruct me ? 

trafford {impatiently). 
Sweet, no further mockery — 
Long have you known my heart. — In honesty, 
I do believe thou'rt mine : therefore, at once 
Speak it — and with one gracious word repay 
The insults unavenged, so lately borne, 
And for thy sake. 

JULIA. 

I humbly thank you, sir. 

And, since repentance must be shewn by prompt 

Confession — I have loved you, cousin. 

TRAFFORD. 

Aye— 

JULIA. 

Aye — so it is — or was ; for, as I live, 
I like not tavern brawls ; not much affect 
Their company, who riot, drink, pervert 
The darling ends of wisdom, and believe 
Love's hallowed fabric based on filthy gold. 
I will not be commanded, — yea, myself 
Being proud, do, as the proud are ever wont, 
Dislike my haughty peers. So, for these causes, 
I will not be your wife. Nay — not a word — 
I will not hear thee speak ; nor e'en endure 
Thy longer presence. Cousin, fare thee well. 



Scene III.] HONESTY. 29 

Get thee another riding-rod — and cease 
Thy swaggering exploits in the hall of peace. 

[Exit Julia. 



SCENE III.__.THE HALL OF TRAFFORD'S HOUSE. 

A crowd of persons. Fairfax at a table, with money, 6fc. 

Fairfax (paying several). 
There — there — and there. Still crowding! I have but 
Two hands, and that's a couple more than men 
Like using for this sport. There, sir ; take back 
Thy burly form — and give thy weaker friend 
Some chance to get his own. This is a court 
Where justice' scales weigh truly. Hold, man — so — 

A MAN. 

Good sir, you've paid me double. 

FAIRFAX. 

Heaven and earth! — 

Have we an artist here ? Take this man's face — 
Get it thrice copied. Hang up one i' the market — 
One in the palace — (Hold, sir; take thy gold.) — 
One in my lady's bower. 'Tis honesty 
Disguised as man ! (Looks round.) Content? 

MANY VOICES. 

All! all! 

[Trafford enters cloaked, and, 
pauses unobserved. 



30 HONESTY. [Act II. 

FAIRFAX. 

Off then, 

Ye cormorants ! — and, mark me, give not out 

That 'tis a roguish world. Two proofs are here 

In contradiction One man claims no more 

Than his fair due. Another — that's my lord — | 
Strips his own shoulders ; sells his horses — rings — 
Begs, borrows — yea, he pilfers, since 'tis theft 
Fondly to trust the future — and all this 
To see your claims amended. 

[JExeunt Creditors. Trafford advances. 

TRAFFORD. 



Fairfax ! — 

Ha! 

This is the truth? 



Fairfax (starting). 



TRAFFORD. 



FAIRFAX. 

Aye, sir ; what boots it now 

To save the crumbs, when, from the royal feast, 

The lady Julia's lord may surely 

TRAFFORD. 

Man!— 

That hope — 'tis gone — 'tis lost? Have we no rope 
Save that ? — 'Tis shipwreck, and all's done. E'en now 
We drift upon the rocks — lost, shattered, sunk, 
Beyond a hope or succour. 

Fairfax {aghast). 
And — and — Deverell ! 



Scene III.] HONESTY. 31 

trafford {gazing round). 
Death to the hound ! Smells he the blood already ? 
What's to be done ? Go howl to Lancaster 
For his proud child! — No — dotard as he is, 
He will not cross her .... Might he die this night — 
Much would be mine — and, Julia, but to bend 
Thy haughty neck ! — 

Fairfax {aside). 
How pale he looks ?- Dear sir — 

TRAFFORD. 

Give me my cloak — I'll taste the air. I want 
My sword, too. Never look so frightened, man ! 
I know what fancy moves thee.— Were it so, 
Wherefore should I go forth ? If I sought death, 
My soul would pierce these roofs as easily 
As 'twould the yielding and invisible air 
Before my footstep .... Follow not, I say. 

[He goes out. 



END OF ACT II. 



ACT III. 

SCENE 1.— A MEANLY FURNISHED CHAMBER. 

F. Gage writing by a feeble lamp.-— Cyril lies stretched 
upon a rude mattrass on the floor, 

gage {after looking up impatiently). 
No rest! no peace! Boy — Cyril — boy, I say — 
Now you feign sleep — come, come — your lips but now 
Shaped out articulate words. Could you be still — 
Vexing yourself, you torture me — and turn 
The idle loathing of a petted child 
'Gainst slumber's medicine. Why so restless, boy ? 

CYRIL. 

Because I cannot sleep. 

GAGE. 

You sigh, too. Why 

Is that ? It troubles me. Why do you sigh ? 

CYRIL. 

For idleness. 

GAGE. 

Tut— tut— 

CYRIL. 

For pastime, then. 



Scene L] HONESTY. 33 

gage (aside). 
He will not say — for hunger. Toss and turn, 
The fiend pursues. Hark, Cyril ! if I play 
The slave for both, give me at least obedience, 
Though I lack love. 

cyril (starting up). 
The slave for — love ! Oh, brother, 
Have I not sought — aye, even with tears — to share 
This labour with you ? I have strength — and — now — 
Who's sick ? Who's idle ? Look, a page complete, 
While yours is scarce begun. 

gage (snatching cyril's pen). 
Do you forget 

I am your elder, sir? What folly's this ? 
You shall do no work, I say! 

cyril (faintly). 
Yes, by your leave. 
Must you, though elder, slave for both ? 

gage (falling on his shoulder). 
My Cyril, 

Not in a selfish, vain reproach I spoke 
Those seeming bitter words — but boasting more 
The right of elder birth, to bear the load 
That Fortune lays upon us. Nought beside 
I claim — but this as jealously maintain 
As any king his crown. Abide we firm, 
And, be the seed-time weary as it will, 
Fair harvest shall be shewn. 

CYRIL. 

I care not — 1 — 



34 HONESTY. [Act III. 

Let grief, let famine, crush their victims down — 
There is more blessing in your love, dear brother, 
Than fear in that word — death. I do not wish 
To live. Do you ? 

GAGE. 

Do I ? What ! Cyril - fold 

Our idle arms, and sink — because the land 

Is hard to reach ! Come — 'tis a coward creed — 

Why those, my boy, whom giddy fortune showers 

Her costliest favours on, who glitter by 

Wrapt in her flimsy shows — drunk with her smile — 

Are Heaven's least favoured children. The respect, 

The praise, the love, that's wrung with force and pain 

From churlish bosoms, is a richer boon 

Than Fortune's total store can grace us with — 

Leaving the giver's heart, as it wakes ours, 

Healthier and happier. Come — to rest, again. 

So — there — to rest — [Cyril lies down and sleeps. 

At last. Thanks, kindly sleep — 

Unfee'd physician ! work thy cure. . . . For me, 

I can nor rest, nor labour. 

[He moves restlessly about— pauses. 
The dull grey 

Of morn peeps through the broken pane. — 'Tis well. 
Another night has crept into the void 
And silent space of that eternity 
That went before the world If I have scorned, 

restful night ! thy brief and priced hours, 

1 have robbed them of their sterner portion, too — 
Dark dream and bitter fancy 

[A knock. He does not heed it. 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 35 

O, my dreams, 

You are too hopeful — too untutored yet — 

I may not trust ye Julia, might'st thou wear 

That peace thou tak'st away ! . . . Is then my love 
So guilty-deep, that only scorn can pay .... 

[Knocking repeated. 
No hope, indeed — in all the world, no hope! 
Those desolate words, howled from the wilderness, 

Or muttered from the grave 

[Enter Deverell, bursting in the door. 

DEVERELL. 

What airs are these, 

That keep me knocking at your beggarly hutch, 
As though I were your servant, fellow — not 
You, mine ? 

GAGE. 

You have supplied the reason. 'Tis 
A beggarly hutch, and not a palace. 

DEVERELL. 

What! 

GAGE. 

I say, 'tis not a palace. 

DEVERELL. 

Well? 

GAGE. 

No need 

To thunder at a poor man's door. 'Tis free 
To all — as 'tis to death. Lock, bolt, and guard 
The columned hall, lest shoeless beggary 
Should mar the galliard, or pale famine scare 



36 HONESTY. [Act III. 

The stomach of my lord. ( Turns away.) I am a fool 
To rail ! 

DEVERELL. 

Proceed, sir. Where didst learn this fine 
Philosophy ? 

GAGE. 

In sorrow's school. 

DEVERELL. 

Indeed ! 

He's a true marvel, that same pedagogue ; — - 
There's not a student, under his wise rule, 
But he's a paragon of virtue ! Come — 
My papers — are they finished ? 

GAGE. 

No. 

DEVERELL. 

No! Not! 

Not finished ? And you dare sit idling here ! 

Why, sirrah, 'tis a loss of fifty pounds — 

A fair half-hundred gathered from my chest, — 

If 'tis a penny! 

GAGE. 

And to me a loss 

Of — let me see — five groats. Is't not enough 

To starve ? 

DEVERELL. 

Hark, sirrah ! I have known you long, 

And learned your fashions. In the eyes of men 

You do affect a breathless industry — 

A very lust of labour — a fine love 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 37 

Of honesty, which, much exalting thee, 

Of all men else makes thieves ; yet here you sit 

In sullen laziness, that hardly deigns 

Move hand to lip, charged with the unearned food 

That better men provide thee. As for him, 

Yon snoring whelp — I'll quickly — {Approaches Cyril.) 

gage (starting up.) 
No — stand back ! 

He is too ill to labour. You may read 
So much in that white cheek. Stand back, sir! — or — 
{Aside) But patience first — Good master Deverell — 
I pray you, do not touch my gentle brother, 
Whom sickness harms enough. 

DEVERELL. 

'Sdeath! but I will. 

Get up, sir ! (Shakes him). He's no relative of mine — 

But he's my servant, whom my charity 

Pays — feeds, — Awake! . . . My roof, too — Up! No drones 

Hive here ! 

[Snatches up the bed, and Cyril falls 
forward on the floor. 
gage (rushing on him). 
Thou thing of self — un mannered beast ! — 
Aping man's presence ! I have manhood left 
To punish thee! 

[Hurls him to the other end of the room. 
Cheerly, my Cyril. Nay, 
He is not worth a look. Lie down again — 
And now I sit beside thee ; if yon wretch 
Lift but a finger, he shall smart for it ! 



38 HONESTY. [Act TIL 

deverell {who has risen slowly). 
Who houses serpents must beware their sting. 
It is a perilous trade, and I'll be quit on't — 
Boys ! — we will speak again. [Exit Deverell. 

CYRIL. 

Where is he gone ? 
What said he, brother ? 

gage. 
Nay, I care not — yet 
The red, malignant flicker his dull eye 
Sent back to us, spoke mischief. Would thou hadst 
A strength sufficient to come forth and seek 
A better, friendlier shelter than this wretch, 
For his own niggard ends, hath tempted me 

Too rashly to embrace. If any 

[Re-enter Deverell. 

DEVERELL. 

Now, 

Good, gentle master Francis — aye, and you, 
My pretty Cyril, though I'd willingly, 
For very love of such good company, 
Bear with some loss — I cannot entertain 
Guests of such hot design. If I mistake not, 
There stands a brief account between us here — 
For food — for coin advanced — for lodging. Now, 
Pay me — or tramp ! 

CYRIL. 

Alas ! good master 

gage {pointing to cyril). 
Look! 
He's ill. 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 39 

DEVERELL. 

The alms-house or the hospital ; 

Or, at the worst, six boards, and nought to pay 

The sexton. Come, sir. What! no money? None? 

Shall I be swindled thus, and when I come 

Softly to seek mine own, be trundled down 

Like ninepins at a fair ? 

GAGE. 

Let us remain 

Till evening, and I will account to thee 

For more than is thy due. 

DEVERELL. 

Do you forget 

The blow ? I do not. Were yon livid wretch 
At his last gasp, he should not spend it here ! 
You know the law, sir. Out he goes — away ! 

GAGE. 

Why, then, he shall not ! 

DEVERELL. 

Good; I will assist 

You forth. [Stamps — Bailiff and Assistants enter. 

Now, Master Grasp, come in, and rid 

My dove's nest of these cuckoos. 

[Cyril leans faintly on F. Gage, 
gage. 
Such revenge 

Is worth resisting ! Force alone shall move us 
Even from so foul a den. [Enter Pembroke. 

PEMBROKE. 

Is this — How now? 
What brawl is here ? 



40 HONESTY. [Act III. 

DEVERELL. 

Another creditor! 

A fellow- victim of mine own ! What wool 
Hast thou been fleeced of, brother innocent ? 
Let's bleat our griefs together. 

PEMBROKE. 

I am sent 

To master Gage. Is this his chamber, sir ? 

DEVERELL. 

No, sir, 'tis mine; though, 'faith, this advocate — 
This man of law — would fain have argument 
Whether it be mine or no. But, ne'ertheless, 
Your pleasure with him ? 

PEMBROKE. 

You're his clerk, then ? 

DEVERELL. 

I! 

His clerk! His — I! — Ha, ha! Hear, gentlemen, 
I am this fellow's — 'Sdeath, sir, you shall see 
Who's clerk — who's master. Troop, ye vagabonds — 
Out — out, I say ! 

Pembroke {interposing). 
Have patience, sir; I come 
To Francis Gage, the honest advocate: 
If I mistake not, this is he — albeit 
Was never worth more worthlessly bestowed — 
More strangely companied. {To F. G.) May I entreat 
Some words in private ? 

DEVERELL. 

If the street may serve 

For council-chamber. This fine lawyer, sir, 



Scene!.] HONESTY. 41 

Hath not a closet, save what sparrows, daws, 

Kites, and such vermin, share with him. Come on — ■ 

My money, sir — ten crowns — or — 

PEMBROKE. 

Psha ! Is this 

The root of all thy bawling ? Hold ! —these crowns 

[Throws a purse. 
From master Gage. So much — aye, ten times more, 
Came I a debtor to him. Get thee hence, 
And take thy fellows ! 

[Deverell gazes a moment in surprise, 
then goes out with attendants, Sfc. 
Sir, you stand amazed, 
And marvel at my freedom. I am here 
In anxious suit, and — as you see — do serve 
Myself the nearest way. 

GAGE. 

Amazed I am, 

To note how angel-like a friendly face 

Shines forth in such a gloom. What does it here? 

Sir, you have named me honest. 'Tis the badge 

And scarecrow 7 in my trade. He who treads ice 

Must be shod smoothly as his glassy floor. 

I can unmask a villain, but not aid : 

I can detect, not practise, cozenage. 

Truth is a hungry calling — in a word, 

I starve, because I cannot o'erpass heaven, 

And paint a black deed fair But to the point — 

This double debt — how shall I pay it, sir, 

And not with prayers ? 



42 HONESTY. [Act III. 

Pembroke {hesitating). 
I fear that — I — 

GAGE. 

Say on. 

You have a suit that must be pressed — and I, 
You know, lack labour. I'll not slumber on't — 
Be sure. And, for the cause, 'tis based, I know, 
On right and honesty — else wherefore jump 
The greater crowd, and light on Francis Gage? 

PEMBROKE. 

'Faith, sir, you bid me speak, and yet your words 
Crush mine i' the forming. I'd bespeak your aid 
To soften guilt scarce questioned. T is indeed, 
A monarch-fault — a crime, whose giant shape 
Unfolds so redly on the eyes of men, — 
Displays such foul and hideous leprosy, 
It might almost be stamped a fellow-sin 
To speak on such a side — or interpose 
One breath, when justice, armed and terrible, 
Awakes to strike it down. 

GAGE. 

'Tis 

PEMBROKE. 

Murder ! 

GAGE (quickly). 
That 

Is called so, which sometimes is none. The fruit 
Of madness — of enforced necessity — 
Of sudden rage, repented and atoned — 
Scowl Murder as he will, there's yet a stream 



Scene L] HONESTY. 43 

Can wash the dull stain from his gory brow — 
That men shall pause, and turn, and give the hand, 
As to a friend restored. 

PEMBROKE. 

But here 'tis linked 

With a most foul accomplice — one that oft, 

Working less bloodily, hath murdered too — 

Filthy ingratitude. Serene old age, 

Rich in kind deeds, in love, and charity — 

But I waste time — Sir Philip Lancaster 

Is dead — by poison. 

GAGE. 

Dead ! — Then parricide 

Is rife among us. Not a wretch but found 

A father in him ! You would have me plead, 

For his assassin ! I — scorned and grown poor 

With shielding innocence — you'd have me — Sir, 

I have not earned this insult at your hand. 

Farewell. 

PEMBROKE. 

I leave you. Truly, I perceive 
'T was wise to hold your honesty so dear, 
For 'tis a costly title. {Pauses.) As regards 
Those coins I — 

gage (starting). 
I had forgotten. Take 

Your offered — Tis too late . . . Sir, do not bind 
My gratitude in such foul, loathsome chains ! 
Nay then, — some cause — some colorable end, 
Why this fair life was ta'en. Come — come — I know 



44 HONESTY. [Act III. 

There's comfort yet. A child will crush its toy, 

And knit the shattered fragments up, in shape 

Newly fantastic ; but a man — the worst 

Of men, confesses he has no power to wake 

The kingly spirit — rich, immortal life, 

In the corrupted clod. No savage slays 

In sport ! — There's nought to palliate — Madness ? No, 

Nor wrong ? — nor insult ? — nor revenge ? 

PEMBROKE. 

Again 

I say, there's none. 

GAGE. 

Alas, — why left you then 

Your wealthy fellows, to beset me here 

With unsought bounty ? I am cheated — snared — 

And — [Cyril leans njjon him* 

'Tis & bargain. Now, sir, to your tale — 

Out with it, quick. Shew me the ditch — the pool — 

Where I must plunge these honest hands, and wring 

The filthy dregs. I am guilt's sworn brother. Come, 

Shew' t me, I say ! 

PEMBROKE.. 

That's reasonable, now. 

Listen. An hour past sunrise, you shall hear 
Two blows on yonder panel. When you'd see 
The murderer 

GAGE. 

How — at large ? 

PEMBROKE. 

But trebly girt 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 45 

With eyes that would outs tare the basilisk — 

Stay — you may need more gold. — Here — here — and 

here — 
Mark me — an hour past sunrise. [Exit Pembroke. 

gage (after a pause) . 
Cyril — Cyril — 
Is the fiend gone? 

CYRIL. 

Our friend, dear brother! Look, 
The gold — 

GAGE. 

Sweet Cyril — 'tis the wage of hell ! 
And I and honesty henceforth are foes. 

[Falls on Cyril's neck. 



SCENE II.— A SALOON IN TRAFFORD'S HOUSE. 
A feast — music, 8fc. — Guests rising to depart, 

trafford (eagerly), 
Nay — come; another round. 

first guest. 
Enough — already 
Day blushes for us — Look! 

TRAFFORD. 

Draw down the blinds. 



46 HONESTY. [Act III. 

Fresh lights ! — A strain there, ho ! gaily and loud — 
Yon nodding minstrels — (a song). Wine! 

SECOND GUEST. 

This royal cheer 

Has left us scant pretext 

TRAFFORD. 

Ten thousand, sir. 

Dark scenes are acting in yon outer world 

May soon eclipse our sunshine — wherefore, drink — 

Bar contemplation out. Hate plotting — love 

With rage contending — Drink, sirs ! — Avarice 

Hugging the hoards that, one day hence, shall feed 

The lean purse of some prodigal heir — Why, drink — 

Here a poor toiling student — 

\_A Servant enters. Trafford starts up. 
Hold! — apart ! {goes aside). 
Now then, thy news ? 

SERVANT. 

There's none, sir! 

TRAFFORD. 

Man — thy look 

Spoke murder, at the least. (Sits). Another song ! 

A merrier. Fill the goblets. — Gentlemen, 

A health — (Guests rise). Indeed ! Well if it must be so, 

'Tis pain to part — (aside). 'Twas more to welcome ye — 

My courteous neighbours — hearty revellers — 

Stout friends — (aside) by which I mean glib sycophants — 

Rough bullies — snarling beggars — and smooth knaves. 

My good friends all, farewell. [Exeunt Guests. 

Fairfax! (Enter Steward). The hour? 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 47 

FAIRFAX. 

Night should be past, sir — yet it is not day. 
The slow lids open as a weaned man 
Wakes drowsily. I never knew the sun 
So loath to shine. 

TRAFFORD. 

The world's too bad for him. 

He's tiring — Hist you ! — What's i' the air? 

FAIRFAX. 

I heard 

No noise, sir. 

TRAFFORD. 

Man, nor I. 'Twas fancy raised 

Those shouts — and cries of — (a roll of thunder) — Hark ! 

FAIRFAX. 

Tis thunder. 

TRAFFORD. 

Groans 

Wrung from the over-burdened element — 

Not — as some say— the Voice [Enter a Servant. 

SERVANT. 

A woman, sir, 

Craved shelter from the storm, who, having heard 
Your name, fell swooning — and hath since besought 
A moment's speech with you. 

TRAFFORD. 

Admit her. Leave me. [Exeunt Servants. Enter Infelice. 

Spirit of unrest ! 

Always prophetic of mischance and ill, 

Why dost thou ever haunt me ? 



48 HONESTY. [Act III. 

INFELICE. 

For revenge, 
Or justice. 

TRAFFORD. 

Canst thou threaten? — Foolish wench, 
The spring-day of my passion hath gone by. 
Did I not tell thee that I could not love? 
Look on ray cheek — 'tis white; the eye-lidj dry — 
There, take my hand — 'tis cold. You cannot trace 
Love's fever in't. The pulse — 'tis slow and dull — 
Passion's quick foot skips like a bacchanal ! 
Speak, girl; what would you? Speak! 

INFELICE. 

Alas ! alas ! 

For the dear quiet meadows where we passed 

That first unconscious time ? Why did you teach 

The wrong you will not mend ? Why roughly wake 

This restless, inward monitor — then leave me 

To bear the scourge alone ? Why say that we 

Should, in like peace, with hands thus fondly twined, 

And hearts thus bound — pass on from youth to age — 

And I, thy wife? Alas! I knew not then 

What worth was in that word. Both blest, and I 

So rich in love — I would have given it for 

A kiss — a smile — a word — a very word — 

Had you so wooed me. 

TRAFFORD. 

Why this change ? 

infelice {concealing her face). 
Because 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 49 

It lacked the mirror of the world's hard eye 
To teach my heart its nakedness. 

TRAFFORD. 

Enough — 

My girl. You speak in vain. Between our souls 

Is hung a veil, through whose funereal gauze, 

Thy form, once fair, grows hideous. You know not 

What toils environ me — what frowning fears 

Make death seem beautiful. 

infelice (eagerly). 
Dash them aside, 

And live ! .... A gentle voice to our lost home 
Recalls us: come away. Quit these dark scenes, 
And seek once more the valley where we strayed 
From morn, not blither than our own glad souls, 
Till languid eve, when to our lattice-pane 
The prating night-breeze stole, with kiss and hymn, 
To chide our tireless talk. Cheerly — sweet life — 
Come — we have both been wanderers — 1, the first, 
Have seen the peril of the way — and now 
By honour's path — to truth — to peace — to love — 
To calm in this poor world — and bliss beyond — 
I woo thee back. 

[Tr afford turns, deeply moved, and 
holds her by both arms apart. 

TRAFFORD. 

My love! — my own! 

INFELICE. 

Ah — Heaven ! 

He loves me yet! Thine own! Oh. let me die 

E 



50 HONESTY. [Act III. 

Thus, on thy breast — my weary, sad heart's home — 
Thou wilt not force thy worn and shattered bark 
To warring seas again ! 

[Enter a Servant, running. 

SERVANT. 

Sir! sir! Alas! 

Oh, good Sir Philip 

tr afford {seizing him). 
Fellow — When 1 — Where 1 — How 1 
Who did the deed? 

SERVANT. 

The murder, sir ! 

tr afford {eagerly). 
Away ! 
Call up thy fellows — arm them 

SERVANT. 

Sir, 'tis vain. 

The wretch was taken — 

TRAFFORD. 

Ah ... . Doubtless, some groom — 

Some treacherous slave — or base mediciner 

Fee'd to do murder. [Servant approaching, whispers 

him. He drops his sword. 
Dog — thou liest — 'Tis false! 
Some palsied beldame duped thee with this tale, 
Wrought out of drunken sleep. Her fears met thine. 
Her night-mare howlings have infected thee 
With spectral fancies. Be a man — 

[Servant whispers again. 



Scene IT.] HONESTY. 51 

INFELICE. 

Alas ! 

What dreadful thing has chanced? — speak — dearest — 

speak — 
Let me partake thy sorrow. 

trafford {trying to avoid her). 
Wo m an — go! — 
You madden me — 

infelice (clinging to him). 
I love thee. 

TRAFFORD. 

Hence, I say ! 

Is this a time for — {in a low voice) — Infelice 

infelice {franticly). 
No! 

Not for thy wooing voice ! 'Twas that betrayed me — 
Now speak in thunder — stab me — trample me — 

But say I shall be thine 

[Trafford throws her off, and exit. 
Listen, thou earth ! 

Mine only parent — ere this humbled knee 
Lift from thy dusty bosom life's dull load. 
From throne and empire do I here depose 
My o'erenduring love — thought, word or deed, 
By love engendered, do confess a sin — 
And every gift of nature — reason — strength — 
Wit — courage — craft — devote, to furnish forth 
A vengeance, worthy of my wrongs — and — thee! 

[Rises, and exit. 



52 HONESTY. [Act III. 



SCENE HI—THE APARTMENT OF GAGE. 
He is reading. 

GAGE. 

" Wherefore, to let the guilty 'scape the law, 

4 ' Is so much mercy as he finds, who slips 

" The hangman's gripe, and, leaping, is impaled 

" Upon the spears below." .... Tis quaintly summed — 

But with such close and cogent reasoning, 

Thou plead'st for patience, and the sheathed sword — 

'Tis won .... and herein will I marshal me 

Upon the piteous side. (Shuts the book.) All-seeing 

Power, 
Who would'st not heed that Thy regenerate child 
Still bowed in the idol's fane — in that he scorned 
The painted dust before him — pardon me 
This seeming fellowship — A sound — a step ! 
The murderer comes. O guilt! what deadly fear — 
What sick, expectant tremor, conscience-born, 
Is eloquent in every glance and breath, 
Footfall and finger-touch ! If thou dost dread 
A brother s look, how — (A knock.) Thou knock'st timidly 
For one of heart so bold ! Approach. Was't thus 
Thou shedd'st, assassin, stealthy drop by drop, 



Scene III.] HONESTY, 53 

Into the chalice, crowned to welcome thee — 

The subtle life-bane ? Come, I say 

{Enter Julia, alone.) 
{Without turning.) Approach .... 
Why dost thou hesitate ? I sit not here 
To judge thee — but defend. What, robbed of speech ! 
{Aside.) Perchance he weeps — and if he weeps, there's 

shame — 
And shame is pitiful. [Looks round, and starts up. 

{After a pause.) 'Tis life ! It breathes ! . . . . 
Oh, lady — why . . . Your will, beseech you ? — Pardon — 
I did not dream of this. Twas Pembroke's tongue 
Bade me expect — not thee — dear lady— but 
A fiend of blood ! 

JULIA. 

He was my messenger ; 

And did his mission truly. All, save he, 

Fled from my side, scared by this bloody cloud — 

And left me to the storm. 

GAGE. 

Grief, gentle lady, 

For this most sudden and most foul misdeed, 

Hath hurt your reason. God shall give you tears — 

And, in those healthful moments, calmly join 

The ill with its assuagement. 

JULIA. 

Do I speak 

In words so unconsidered ? Pardon me. 

I would be brief, for there, without, stand those 



54 HONESTY. [Act III, 

Will not, I fear, be long controlled. Then know, 

I am by nature cold and passionless ; 

An un-emotioned, tearless wretch — Alas! 

Not so, the happier. Such mental mould 

Repels the pigmy darts that slay the weak ; 

But where the arrow pierces it remains, 

And rankles to the core. Not joy, nor grief, 

Nor any sharp soul-sickness, ever dimmed 

Mine eye — nor spurred these pulses. Place a hand 

Here, on my breast, and there's the heart within 

Coldly and sternly pacing, to and fro, 

His natural prison. Yet if thou believe 

Dry lids can argue madness — give me help, 

And, in good time, I'll weep. 

GAGE. 

Speak, madam. 

JULIA. 

/ 

Am called Sir Philips murderer! 

GAGE. 

Thou? O Heaven ! 

Falsehood itself recoils from such a word. 
Who dares accuse thee? Tell me — let me seek 
In his black heart 

JULIA. 

Restrain this passion, sir. 

It is mistimed. I seek an advocate— 

A man of peace — crafty, and wise, and cool ; 

Quick to discern, and patient to enlarge 



Scene III.] HONESTY. 55 

Such flaw as chance may offer, in that net 
Meant to enmesh the guilty — — 

GAGE. 

Ay, the guilty — 
But oh, not thee ! 

JULIA. 

Have I denied the deed ? 

GAGE. 

Thou wilt do so ... . How long wilt thou endure 

This bold, inquiring gaze ? — I do not say 

I think thee guilty — yet, on such a hand, 

The leprosy of blood .... Proud woman, not 

One haughty word ? Your lips move not— -your cheek 

Retains its pale, inexplicable hue. . . . (Pauses.) 

Then, serpent sin, erect thy coiling folds 

To Heaven ! — Ha ! dost thou smile? 

JULIA. 

Ay, sir ; to hear 

Your courtly speech. But I '11 offend no more 

In mirthful sins ... . let 's to the work in hand ; 

For my unliveried pages will abide 

No longer question. Listen. I was seized — 

The fatal goblet in this hand — and this, 

Glued to the old man's white and wrinkled brow, 

Groping 'midst its dead pulses, to discern 

If more were left to do. Thus was I found. 

I — / — his nurse — his leech — his cupbearer — 

Almost his pillow — for, no sleep so calm 

As that which visited those grey old lids 

At rest upon my bosom. 



B6 HONESTY. [Act JIT. 

GAGE. 

Thanks, kind Heaven ! 

AH 's clear — all's safe! — You knew not — could not 

dream 
What death was in the cup ? 

JULIA. 

So well I knew 

That silent agent's skill and potency, 

That when I saw the baleful glitter hang 

Upon his lip, I knew me fatherless, 

Ere life had fluttered forth. Have 1 not said 

None but myself did cater to his meal ?• 

None but myself watched o'er his slumbering ? 

Hath any seen me mourn him? — If not guilt. 

It is a task well worth your eloquence 

To give 't an honest mien, 

GAGE. 

Eternal power! 

Rend off the veil from this strange heart, and shew 

Its natural colour. 

JULIA. 

Will you answer me ? 
I sent for other aid. Alack, none came. 
Who would hold counsel with a parricide ? 
Will you take up my cause ? I pr'ythee, speak ! 

GAGE, 

I will defend thee — but . . . . O woman ! — woman ! 
If thou hast done this, thou hast slandered Heaven — 
Lied to the hand that framed and sent thee fbrth„ 
A bright ambassador, to teach mankind 



Scewe III.] HONESTY. 57 

Truth's grace and loveliness ! . . . Henceforth, oh, world ! 

Change thy belief: the glass is cracked — untrue, — 

Let pale suspicion hold the sense in thrall — 

Smiles sting — tears threaten — and fair face9 sound 

Alarms to justice ! — -Couch with beasts, that wear 

Their horrid nature plain — but on that smooth, 

Gentle hyena — thy own fellow man, 

Hold watch untiring. Through whate'er is left 

Our souls, of Eden, poisons lurk i' the flower — 

The sweetest — ay, the tenderest ! (He turns away.) 

JULIA. 

Your reply ? 

I yet may live to prove But be resolved, 

And quickly. I am called. 

gage (eagerly). 
Resolved ! — resolved ! — 
Guilty or not, strange being, I am thine — 
Heart, soul, and brain! — Oh, yet be merciful! — 
Hear me. — Thou shalt! — 

(Throws himself madly at her feet.) 
Look — by this constant earth — 

The air that clothes it — and the heaven that guides — 
By every passion sown in human hearts — 
Mine own unheeded love — by these — these tears — 
(Stronger than their rough prison) — lastly, by 
Thine own o'erladen or most wronged soul — 
By word, or glance, or gesture — answer me, — - 
Art thou not innocent ? 

[Julia stamps slightly. Several per* 
sons enter and surround her. 



58 HONESTY. [Act III. 

JULIA. 

You see ... . And so, 
Farewell. For ever ? or but till the hour 
Of trial ? Speak. I may expect you ? 
gage (hides his face). 
Aye. 

[Exit Julia, guarded. He sinks into his chair. 



END OF ACT III, 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— A ROOM IN TRAFEORD'S HOUSE. 
Enter Fairfax, with Infelice disguised. 

FAIRFAX. 

What canst thou do, boy ? 

infelice {faintly). 
Eat, sir. 

FAIRFAX. 

' Faith, thou hast 

A hungry look. What else? 

INFELICE. 

Drink — if I might — 

Sleep — if I could — but if I can't — why watch. 

FAIRFAX. 

Canst lie, too ? 

INFELICE. 

No. 

FAIRFAX. 

Why, there, thou dost. How old ? 

INFELICE. 

Eighteen, sir. 



60 HONESTY. [Act IV. 

FAIRFAX. 

And no falsehood yet? Tell truth 
For eighteen years ! Why there's no conscience, boy, 
Could stand such strain. A page, too? Tis the first 
Step of thy calling. 

INFELICE. 

An it please you, sir, 

Under your fair tuition, I'll soon 

FAIRFAX. 

Nay. 

I'll no such elder pupils. You won't serve. 

INFELICE. 

But I've some lighter arts, sir. I can sing, 

Dance, strike the cymbal 

Fairfax {turning). 
Sing! boy. Canst thou sing? 

Then serve my master. 'Faith, one strain shall more 
Bestead thee, than a score of silken lies 
Spun from the devil's own loom. My master's sick 
For music. If thy warbling can allay 
His frenzied spirit, we are thy debtors all ; 
For since his kinsman's murder, he doth fright 
All duty from him. It was but yesterday 
He struck old Paul, Sir Philip's steward, that 
His silver locks wept blood ; and Charles, his page, 
Hath left in terror. Go, my boy, get food — 
Dress, and come hither. [Exit Infelice. 

That is fortunate ; 

For this, his wretched cousin's trial-morn, 
Must gall his reason sorely. Would 'twere done! 

[Tr afford enters slowly and dejectedly. 



Scene!.] HONESTY. 61 

Sir, I have done your bidding, and procured 
A minstrel page. 

TRAFFORD. 

1 met him yonder. Tis 

A fair, well-seeming boy There was a thought 

Troubling my mind .... Ah, Fairfax — didst thou give 
To the old man my message and the purse? 

FAIRFAX. 

Ay, sir. He thanked you. He would take no gold — 
And, for the blow, 'twas of that sort that still 
Recoils, and harms the giver. 

TRAFFORD. 

Truly, Fairfax, 

When my quick passion overcame me thus, 

I saw not his grey hairs. I'm sorry that 

I struck him. Go — {Exit Fairfax. 

I am restless, sick, and sad — 

Faint at the heart, and weary in the limb — 

Could bluster with a sparrow — chide the wind 

That, with the music of its westering moans, 

Mocks my tumultuous — {Re-enter Fairfax). 

How, sir ! I have said 

I'll speak with none. 

{Enter Deverell. Fairfax retires. 

DEVERELL. 

"But friends. (Trafford turns away.) O, save you, sir! 
Your scorn is out of season. 1 have tamed 
Many such crested snakes, that, fangless now, 
Feed at my hand. You owe me, as I think, 
Some seven thousand (Looks at tablets) 



62 HONESTY. [Act IV. 

tr afford {impatiently). 
Know at once, old man, 
I cannot pay thee. 

DEVERELL. 

Nay, most honoured sir, 
Who talked of payment ? Thomas Deverell 
Feels for his friends. He's not a post — a stone — 
And seeks no further than to 'scape the loss 
His trustful nature, and too-ready hand, 
Would daily thrust upon him. 

TR AFFORD (aside). 

Could my soul 

One moment cast its burden, I might win 

Much humour from this knave. Speak, master Deverell — 

Shew me your drift. You knew my hopes — and how 

This most — unhappy 

DEVERELL. 

Murder! Ay, I know 

What's said — and I suspect that You look pale ! 

TRAFFORD. 

Proceed, man, and ne'er heed my looks. (Sits down.) 

DEVERELL. 

'Tis plain 

She's guilty; and, as lucky fortune wills — 

Old black-browed Gisborne sits in judgment — he 

Whose life his own child sought. He'll not be found 

Too hard of faith ! What slender proof soe'er, 

He'll hang her, for ensample. But the law 

Is complex and unsure — and those wise brains 

Who lend, for wage, the talents Heaven assigned, 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 63 

In aid of its worst foes, might haply light 

Upon some nook of refuge. Now, admire 

My prudence, sir. I have seen these gentlemen ; — 

Some I have bought ; persuaded some ; of some, 

Deep in my debt, made sure ; and so 'twill fall 

That no lip opens on the accused side — 

No witness called to palliate ; nor quaint rule 

Be twisted to her safety . . . What remains? — 

The murderess once disposed — her forfeit wealth 

Due to the crown, shall, on petition, fall 

To you, her kinsman. Is this — Ha ! how now ! 

Fall'n senseless ! . . . Ho ! 

[Enter Fairfax and Infelice. 
Look to your lord. . . . Poor fool! {Aside — Exit.) 

trafford {recovering). 
Then he is gone — nay, leave me. — All is well. 
I will o'ercome this weakness. 

FAIRFAX. 

Sir, the court 

Send to require your presence. 

TRAFFORD {to INFELICE). 

Alan, — haste 

To master Pembroke. Bid him follow me 

Unto the court — of — Ah ! he knows. Away. [Exeunt. 



64 HON EST V. [Act TV 



SCENE II.— THE STREET.-EXTERIOR OF THE COURT HALL. 

Many persons assembled, and passing in and out. 
Enter Pembroke and Infelice. 

PEMBROKE. 

This note, boy, to your master. In, at once. 

Stay. Those dark eyes of thine have doubtless served 

Their owner, at less hopeful need than that 

Which now requires them. Let them wander. Note, 

Chiefly, the prisoner — looks she red or pale — 

Stands she — or sits — who's speaking — if the judge, 

The elder of them — he with sluggish brows — 

Fingers his robe, thus. Then, to me again ; 

Here will I stand — beside this pillar. — Fly. 

[Exit Infelice. 
Myself I dare not trust. Here's one comes forth — 

{Enter a Clerk). 
A coarse, dull-featured knave. Doubtless, with him, 

Fair looks are treason. To be beautiful 

How goes the day, sir? 

clerk (roughly). 
Well. [Exit, and enter another. 

PEMBROKE. 

Nay, then, 'tis lost. 

Here comes another. Psha! a mild, fair boy — 

Half weeping, doubtless — smitten deep with guilt 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 65 

That's housed so witehingly. I'll try him, though — 
How goes the day, sir ? 

second clerk (with a conceited air). 
Very gloomily 

For justice — well for those, sir, who confess 
Light consciences — and therewithal some skill 
In poisons ; with, perhaps, a wife who hath 
Outgrown their liking — inconvenient sire — 
Or tough, immortal grandame — -sir — . . . 

[Bows and exit, 

PEMBROKE. 

Tis plain, 

I am no judge of feature — {Approaches closer.) 

Still as death ! 

What beating hearts anticipate the birth 

Of fate, that pregnant pause may furnish ! — Ah ! 

[A sudden and loud murmur heard within — 
then enter two Advocates. 

FIRST ADVOCATE. 

Well spoke, i' faith ! But 'twas a bitter zeal 

That o'erstepped nature. Ne'er was truth so mauled — 

So daubed with fancies hypothetical, 

And thrust in reason's room ! 

SECOND ADVOCATE. 

But 'twill not serve. 

By the red twinkle of old Gisborne's eye, 

'Twill never serve, [Exeunt. Enter another. 

Pembroke (meeting him). 
Whither so fast, my friend ? 



66 HONESTY. [Act IV. 

THIRD ADVOCATE. 

To burn my books, sir, sell my gown, and give 

My tongue a lasting holyday. No hope 

For plain, dull plodders more. Gage has cut through 

The fruit of eloquence — sucked the honeyed core, 

And left no sweets for other. He hath forced 

Belief from weak hearts — from the stronger, tears, 

Which dropped — I heard them — on the yellow scrolls 

Spread out in seeming eagerness. He spoke 

To nerves of steel — else were yon fair wretch free — 

Half England at her footstool. [Exit hastily. 

PEMBROKE. 

Ha ! [Gage staggers out. They surround him. 

ALL. 

Huzza ! 

Room here for master Gage ! the poor man's friend — 

The honest advocate ! Huzza ! huzza ! 

gage {struggling through them). 
Off! — I breathe fire! — 

a clerk {follows him eagerly with scrolls). 
An hundred crowns, sir, — hold — 
Plead but this cause to-morrow. We have long 
Beheld your rising — No ? Then, fifty more — 
Talent must win. Two hundred, sir, for this — 

And every future 

gage {distractedly). 
Lost! lost! lost! [Rushes out. 

CLERK. 

O ! — mad. {Returns.) 



Scene III.] HONESTY. 67 

Pembroke {to infelice who enters). 
Come on, my boy — Away ! Let's after him. 

[Exeunt. Crowd disperse. 



SCENE III.__THE COURT. 



Judges and officials seated. Julia stands before them, 
guarded. Tr afford as accuser, with Advocates, Sec. 
The Court, crowded with persons of both sexes, is dimly 
lighted, and the whole wears a dismal aspect. 

crier of the court. 
Let all keep silence. Julia Lancaster, 
Thou art convict of blood and parricide. 
Wherefore should'st thou not die ? 

FIRST JUDGE. 

No answer, woman? 

You wear a bold front, too — but that's the trick 

Of guilt, to hide its natural feature. Well, 

Canst tell us nothing ? With what hellish drug,—- 

What strange preparative, didst put to sleep 

The watchful hounds of conscience, ere thy soul 

Could leap their guard, and to its evil work 

Creep, thief-like ? Wretch ! — why didst thou this ? Why 

slay 
The grey-haired soldier, from whose honoured life 
Grew thine ? 



68 HONESTY. [Act IV. 

SECOND JUDGE. 

If, maiden, thou canst aught produce 
In contradiction of thy threatened doom, 
Our duty bids us hear it. 

JULIA. 

Good, my lords, 

I have been schooled in sorrow — crushed in soul — 

Walked in the gloomy paths where no sweet ray 

Assures the wanderer's step, but that which burns 

In his own breast. And I have learned to rule 

Those mental furies — passion, hate, and fear — 

To see nought strange in any giddy height 

That guilt may reach at — nothing beautiful 

In innocence assumed, — or worthy blame 

In that too-eager justice which o'erleaps 

The crouching guilt, and hunts the innocent 

For that it seems to fly For this — this crime — 

Stood it alone, that breath ye now require 
Should render up to heaven as white a soul 
As ever fled its crumbling wall of clay — 
I am not guilty, sirs, of this dear blood : 
But that is nothing. By this hand I raise 
Up toward the source of truth, I do adjure 
The doer of this dark and monstrous deed, 
Shortly to meet me, and to answer, there, 
The stain of double murder. I have done. 
trafford {rising eagerly). 
Sirs, I beseech you, spare her. Let her live — 
If there be doubt. — Nature herself declares 
This crime impossible— but nature's law 
Redeems not life. If mercy — 



Scbne III.] HONESTY. 69 

MANY VOICES. 

Mercy ! mercy ! . . . 

first judge (rising). 
Silence that howling ! Master Trafford, hold ! 
You do mistake your office, lending breath 
To their besotted cry ! Above thy head 
The murdered victim shakes his grizzled hair, 
Moaning for vengeance ! . . . Shall our cups be baned ? 
Harm dogs unpolicied mercy. Life for life ! 
The sword, struck sidelong from the well-condemned, 
Stabs twenty guiltless. Woman, raise thy head : 
Look. As those cressets flicker and grow wan, 
So ebbs thy life. 

second judge (hastily). 
'Tis true. But, maiden, hear. 
I would adjure thee, in a milder sort, 
To penitence and peace. All thoughts that teem 
With life and hopeful energy, call home, 
Destroy, and crush them earthward. O, that He 
Who gave thine eye such glory — shed this garb 
Of natural beauty round thine outward frame, 
Had passed His Spirit o'er thine own — and left 
The floods of earthly passion quenched and barred ! 
Then — But I tax not thine o'erladen hours 
With grief for things undone, — so counsel thee, 
Amend this poor, faint gasp — this dwindled shred — 
Concluding — you must die. 

FIRST JUDGE. 

And, since 'tis meet 

That, in the scraping this unnatural blot 



70 HONESTY. [Act iv. 

From God's disfigured earth, there should be shewn 
Some due abhorrence — though the rope be shameful, 
And the axe keen, we will contrive that with 
That fiery purge which • 

SECOND JUDGE. 

Brother, by your leave, 

The power to vary the accustomed mode 

Of execution rests not 

FIRST JUDGE. 

With the king 

It rests,— and, by this ermine which I wear, 
I will so speak, as to make void all stay 
Urged by his gracious nature. 

JULIA. 

I am young. 

How long, my lords, may be accorded me, 

To urge life's feelings, memories, hopes, and fears, 

To this untimely harvest — pluck their roots — 

And cast them, in one fair and living heap, 

Into my gaping grave? How long? 

SECOND JUDGE. 

Three days. 

Which, by petition on the accuser's part, 

May somewhat be enlarged. 

FIRST JUDGE. 

Not at my will. 

Threedays, thou murderess! — aye, thou witch — threedays. 

Therefore, prepare ! 

JULIA, 

I will, my lord — and when 



Scene III.] HONESTY. 71 

I shall recount my catalogue of sin — 

Murder and witchcraft — as my chiefest crimes — 

Shall first be thought of. 

[As the Judges rise, Gage rushes 
in eagerly. 
first judge {turning from him). 
Drag her to the cell ! 
Proclaim the court dissolved. 

GAGE. 

Not so, my lords. 

I have that to urge 

FIRST JUDGE- 

You are too tardy, sir. 

Not even your fiery eloquence can stay 

The course of justice longer. 

GAGE. 

Keep your scorn 

Till you have heard me. Witness I have none : 

But in those ancient volumes by whose rule 

Our fathers meted justice, it is writ, 

That if a prisoner, howsoe'er accused, 

(The act not seen), shall by a champion's sword 

Engage — and, ere the first star shines, prevail — 

He shall be free. No scroll less merciful 

Hath yet repealed this gracious mean, whereby 

The all-seeing power of Heaven did oft confound 

Our warped and stricken judgment. On the part 

Of Julia Lancaster, I here demand 

The wage of battle ! (A pause.) 

FIRST JUDGE. 

Rather might I blot 



72 HONESTY, fAc* IV. 

One twelvemonth from this waning calendar, 

Than stretch a life so forfeit ! But the law 

Cannot be curbed, nor lightly bent aside, 

Even to good ends. 'Tis granted. Master Trafford, 

Throw down your gauntlet. Do you pause, sir ? How ! 

You are the challenger. (Trafford drops his glove.) 

There lies his gage. 

And with his body in a listed field, 

Will he defend our sentence. 

GAGE. 

It is well. 

FIRST JUDGE. 

Where is your champion, woman ? Here, methinks, 
Not all those pretty witcheries, that made 
My worthiest brother grieve, shall much avail 
To your behoof. .... There 's but a single step 
From field to scaffold 

JULIA. 

Aye — if Heaven so wills. 

FIRST JUDGE. 

Peace — thou profane one! — Should the appellant yield, 
He dies before thee. 

GAGE. 

Aye — 

FIRST JUDGE (to JULIA). 

Can I not shake 

Thy stubborn spirit ? Lead her to the cell — 

Darkness and solitude must shroud the path 

That ends in torture. [Exeunt Judges and others. 



Scene III.] HONESTY. 73 

gage {approaching julia). 
So much good, dear lady, 
Glean from these savage taunts, to fortify 
Your heart against worst fortune. Go not forth 
To meet despair — nor, when it comes, avoid — 
Yet, hope — Heaven quits not thus the innocent — ■ 
A champion will be found. [Exeunt. 



END OF ACT IV, 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— A LARGE GLOOMY APARTMENT IN THE HOUSE 
OF THE LANCASTERS. OLD PICTURES HANG ROUND. 

Tr afford at a table writing. 
tr afford (starting). 
Again — thou boding voice ! Will no thought drown, — 
No reason stifle thee ? Have I not said 
She shall not perish ? Can the eyesight weep 
Red, visible blood — that wheresoe'er I turn, 
A drop lies weltering ? . . . . Dim shapes flit by — 
Old men, with halting gait and grizzled hair — 
While from the walls an hundred grim old sires 
Grin hate like mocking demons. O my soul ! 
Fear'st thou to wear thy dearly purchased crown ? 
Cup of my life — art thickening to the dregs, 
And giv'st no sweetness for 't ? .... I cannot bear 
This shrieking silence. . . . Alan! — Alan! Boy, 

[Enter Infelice, 
Come hither. In this tedious march of life, 
The few steps thou hast walked with me have wrought 
A pathway through my heart, I say, my boy, 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 75 

I do believe none, none in all this world, 

Saving thyself, doth love me. Tis most strange 

How like thou art to — there! — 'tis gone again — 

Form, air, and voice and feature — — Sure if those 

We love — (Infelice laughs.) 

Why smilest thou ? 

INFELICE. 

Pardon me. To think 

Of the fantastic forms love takes. 

tr afford {thoughtfully). 
'Twas much 

To say I loved her then. But there's a thing 
That bears so much love's semblance, that 'tis hard 
To name it lowlier. The difference is, 
It lacks the undying soul. It is a fire 
That may be quenched, re-kindled, drowned again, 
Yet hold a glimmering vitality, 
Obedient to the hour : but love— that curse, 
That serpent, fostered in man's heart to turn 
Its little good to ill — can know no change — 
No, not an hour's death. 

INFELICE. 

Do you yet repent 

Your rage with Infelice ? Would you — — 

TR AFFORD. 

Boy, 

I never knew repentance. 

infelice {aside bitterly). 
'Tis to learn. 



76 HONESTY. [Act V. 

TRAFFORD. 

What say'st thou? .... Alan, I did bid thee once, — 
Or 'twas my purpose — question of her fate. 
What didst thou hear ? 

INFELICE. 

Sir — she is dead. 

TRAFFORD. 

Dead ! 

INFELICE. 

Aye. 

She, that did so adore thee, lives no more. 

Heart-dead, she wanders through a world that hath, 

Like thee, no pity for the fool that gave 

The bright pearl, honour, for the ruby, love — 

And failed of both. Beware! for with such rule, 

As night treads out the dead sun's track, doth hate 

Spring from the sepulchre of love, that's slain 

By him that was its keeper. 

TRAFFORD. 

Be it so. 

Here's scarce enough of peace for her revenge 

To flesh its tooth upon. God rest her ! Dead I 

I trust she is — The stamp of horse ! — Look out ! 

Beneath the window — Fly, boy ! Wilt thou let 

Good news stand shivering at the door, and leave 

Its welcome, to cold lips of — [Exit Infelice. 

Now — oh ! Now — 

Pardon — reprieve — or .... .God! 

[Sinks into his chair. 



Scene I.] HONESTY. 77 

Come — Alan ! — What, 

To hear a laugh — a happy cry ! a leap ! 

A bounding step i' the stair — O crawler ! Gone 

An hour! [Re-enter Infelice. 

Thou hast it on thy cheek — Shriek, owl. 

Is — is it — 

INFELICE. 

Death. 

TRAFFORD. 

Why there's a black page turned — 
Leave me — To bed ! — Sleep, if thou canst — No, stay 
Without, awhile. These news have troubled me 
Even past belief. My prayer refused — though backed 
With untold wealth — Not gone? 

INFELICE. 

So please you, sir, 

You have guests to supper, bade to celebrate 

The pardon, you 

TRAFFORD. 

Why, let them come. But — stay — 
The little flask thou know'st of — let it stand 
Beside me, at the board. I warned thee once, 
Did I not, Alan, what a dangerous gem 
Gleams in that crystal casket? 'Faith, of late 
It likes me to consort with things of death ; 
I love to raise that flask before the sun, 
And think, that every crimson mote that skips 
And glitters there, can drag down to the grave 
A giant's life .... It is a dreary thought, 



78 HONESTY. [Act V. 

And should not be indulged . Thou'lt do this ? 

[Imfelice smiles. 
How? 
My mission pleases thee ? 

INFELICE. 

It ever does 

To serve my gentle lord. [Exit Infelice. 

tr afford (starting). 
Again — wild knell? 
Life, be less dark — or death less terrible. [Exit. 



SCENE II.— A PRISON. 

Julia lies asleep upon a rude couch. Gage stands beside 
her — his arms folded. 

gage. 
She stirs not — hardly breathes .... If flattering tongues 
Have purchased this brief rest — these latest friends 
Will prove thy falsest. What new-plumed hopes — 
What lively visions, glittering images, 
All fresh and beauteous with reviving life — 
Must fade anew, when I, whose hope thou wert — 
I, to whose peace thou gav'st the vital beam— 
Yes — / — shall bare this death-discoloured heart, 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 79 

And tell thee — But a moment — I am loth 

To snatch away the robe of this sweet calm — 

Since deep, indeed, must be the rest that next 

Shall marry those dear lids. If guilt be here, 

Then conscience, sick of torture, drops the whip, 

And dozes o'er the wheel — if innocence, 

Would thou wast dead before me ! [Clock heard. 

To my task ! 

Wake — madam. [Kneels, and kisses her hand. 

julia (awaking, and starting up). 
Is it time ? 

GAGE. 

Dear lady, yes, 

For prayer. Address you to that Power above, 

Who with such placid slumber sanctifies 

And soothes the tedious end .... Shall I speak on ? 

I know you do not fear. 

JULIA. 

I'll say for thee. 

Men hold my cause dishonour. I must die. 

GAGE. 

'Tis even so. Death robes himself in peace, 
And, dartless, comes to lead you by the hand, 
Beyond the shafts of ill. Your sleep was calm — 
And I was jealous, lest that busy life 
Should too much cumber it. 

JULIA. 

Thoughtful and kind — 

I did not hope — I do not fear — and, least, 

With thee. 



80 HONESTY. [Act V 

GAGE. 

I thank you, madam. My reward 
Is — to demand no gratitude. 

JULIA. 

Your speech 

Is colder than the heart whose generous zeal 
Might give it colour. Sir, I hoped that grief 
Had exercised its better part and power — 
To heal dissension. You have suffered, too. 
We are at peace ? 

gage {agitated). 
At peace! 

JULIA. 

Yes. For the wrong 

My haughty spirit 

gage {eagerly). 
Dearest lady — hold — 
For what is done, think it a written tale, 
Heard, and forgotten — or remembered for 
Some moral, harsh but true. Your scorn was just — 
The sole fault, mine — and for the punishment — 
Enough. 'Twas borne. 

JULIA. 

You had that stay so oft 

Enjoined to me, your pupil. You could hope. 

GAGE. 

I had no hope. Nay, that is false — for all 
Is possible, to life — and love is life — 
Perfect, indissoluble, constant, pure. 
Together tread they this perplexed way — 



Scene II.] HONESTY. 81 

If there be joy, 'tis shared; if sorrow, still 
'Tis light to bear the anguish of an hour ! 
They kiss the scourge together — and, together, 
(This garment of corruption cast away) 
Become immortal. 

JULIA. 

And can hope that's held 

So cheaply — scorned at — as, in truth, was thine, 

Be cherished still ? 

GAGE. 

Aye — like a corpse embalmed: 
Still fair to look upon. We know that life 
Can never animate the beautiful, 
Unmoving, silent mass, and yet 'tis sweet 
To dwell on those fair features, and believe 
We trace the foot-tracks of the flitted soul 
Through its deserted dwelling. 

JULIA. 

O, my friend, 

And kindliest comforter ; these dungeon-hours, 
In wasting this poor frame, have schooled my soul — 
Stripped from mine eye the false, delusive glare, 
That led my heart astray — but left, alas ! 
Nought but weak words, and barren thankfulness, 
Whose bare expression seems to mock and wound 
Thy haughty friendship. 

GAGE. 

Pardon. 

JULIA. 

Pardon ? 



82 HONESTY. [Act V. 

GAGE. 
I 

Once said I loved thee, lady. 

julia (smiling). 
Could I pay 

In such poor coin thy service, all were well. 
Warmly we plead for — loudly justify, 
The faults whereof our secret hearts confess, 
Themselves, the parentage. O, you have taught 
More than submission — truth — and fortitude ; 
A dearer task than peace ; a harder far 
(To hearts like mine) than death — but, being learned, 
More lovely-sweet than life, though pampered high 
With towering fortunes. Hence, all pride ! all fear ! 
All womanly reserve ! . . . Protector — friend ! 
I love thee! 

GAGE. 

Do not mock me, lady. What ! — 
Is not this day ? Are not my senses clear, 
Ripe, and distinctful 1 Not with words so vain 
Requite the humble service 

JULIA. 

Be it so. 

It best befits thine honour, to reject 

The humbled heart, that, sought in fortune's noon, 

Was gracelessly withheld. Loosed from its pride — 

Self-hated — beggared — weary — wherefore call 

Its last few pulses thine ? 

gage (in uncontrolled emotion) . 
Life of my life ! 



Scene III.] HONESTY. 83 

Guide of my doubting footsteps ! My sweet star, 
That o'er the dark flood of mine anguish moved, 
And told of worlds beyond ! What shall I speak ? 

How tell thee Love me ! — Love ! . . . My brain grows 

wild — 
Now thrilling with a fierce and eager joy — 
Now shivering in a blank despair. O, Heaven ! 
Be present at our need. 

JULIA. 

Nay, dearest friend — 

The calm you counselled me 



gage (in a broken voice). 
That voice — so soon 

To mix with angels' — Art thou . . . Blessed hand ! 
Thy cool touch melts my fever. Reason leaps 
Back to her throne. Forgive me — I — I weep . . . 
Scorn me not, Julia — they are happy tears — 

Such as give life. One moment And this hand, 

Once more upon my brow ! — Now will I save — 

If not — precede thee ! [Rushes out. 



SCENE III.— PEMBROKE'S GARDEN. 

Morning twilight. Pembroke and Cyril. 

PEMBROKE. 

'Tis even as I feared. The day is come, 

And no acceptance. Fame, the wide-mouthed jade, 



84 HONESTY. [Act V. 

So loudly vaunting Trafford's skill in arms, 
Hath done us mortal hurt. O, never debt 
Did gall so bitterly an honest heart, 
As mine to Douglas Trafford, which hath glued 
My rapier — here — (Strikes his scabbard.) 

CYRIL. 

What answer has arrived 
From Mordaunt? 

PEMBROKE. 

" That his honour and his will 

Held strife." The message found him, with his band, 

Upon the eve of battle. 

CYRIL. 

And from Seyle? 

PEMBROKE. 

" He is too old, and, were his years more few, 

Lacks gold to furnish him. His heart" — ha — ha! — 

" Is with the right." 

CYRIL. 

Sandell — and Gosselin? 

PEMBROKE. 

Supped last night with the challenger. I stayed 
Their purposed missives. Who comes here ? 

[Enter Gage, 
gage. 
'Tis I, — 
Friend of the innocent. 

PEMBROKE. 

I'll not usurp 

Your title. I'll be thine. But how is this ? 



Scene III.] HONESTY. 85 

Your joyous look — proud bearing 'Faith, you shew 

More of the bridegroom than the mourner. 

GAGE. 

Tis, 

Indeed, my wedding morn. Sweet music fills 
Mine ears ; my heart seems to expand and toy, 
Like some gay swimmer through a fairy sea — 
And feelings, rich as gold, that ne'er believed 
They had a being, start in legions forth, 
Unveiling worlds of beauty. All will, sure, 
Go well ; and, be't in life or death — I'll hold 
The augury fulfilled. 

Pembroke (shuddering). 
The flames ! — 

gage (starting). 
O, well 

Reminded ! Joy makes selfish. Here, my Cyril. 
This (Gives a sheathed knife) to the lady Julia, with best 

speed. 
Bid her conceal it — for a friend so true 
Is scarce in fashion ; — let her not employ 
Too rashly its sure aid. The point is tried — 
If but a baby-finger urge it home, 
No second touch is needed. (Exit Cyril.) Now, my 

friend — 
Farewell ! — and if from this day's promised gloom 
Spring joy, thy heart, I know, will not be last 
To welcome it. Heaven guard the innocent now ! 

[Exeunt. 



86 HONESTY. [Act V. 



SCENE IV.— THE APPROACH TO THE PLACE OF EXECUTION 
— SMITHFIELD. 

The scaffold, pile, Sfc. behind, with guards, Sfc. 8fc. 
Crowds of persons assembled, and pressing in. 

A WOMAN. 

A goodly day, my gossips. 

ANOTHER. 

Very fair. 

From Brentford ? 

FIRST WOMAN. 

Aye. My little Michael, here, 

(Your cap, sir) begged so takingly to see 

The pretty lady burned, that Boy, don't tease 

That butterfly ! Let go, sir ! It hath bones 

And sinews like our own. Wilt never learn 

Humanity? — And so, ma'am, 'twas agreed 

To make a merry day on't — and we go 

To supper, in Eastcheap. {They pass on.) 

A FORESTER. 

Is that the man ? 

[Trafford enters with Pembroke and 
others, and stands bach. 
Beshrew him for a coward ! You ne'er see 
A fellow of such frightened aspect, but 
There's a black heart to match it. 



Scene IV.] HONESTY. 8ff 



A CLERK. 



A MAN. 

So — 'tis said 

She has confessed. j. Hurrying past. 

ANOTHER. 
No— 110 ! 

And, if she did, 

She lied ! 

[Julia enters, in white; her feet bare, 
a crucifix in her hand — a Priest be- 
side her — Guards, Sfc. 
confessor (speaking as they enter). 

This holy resignation. They 

Who take their fortune frankly by the hand, 

If it be foul of mien, the quicklier growl 

Familiar with the sterner lineaments, 

And study, so, contentment. If we sift 

The gem and offal fairly, 'twill be found— 

You heed me not, my daughter. 

JULIA. 

Father, yes. 

I did but — I — (Still gazing round). 

confessor (in a low voice). 
If there be any link 
More dear than other 

JULIA. 

Nothing — no — and yet 

That promise — and forgotten! — But 'tis nothing — 
Only I thought I had a friend. Look, father — 
Stand you between my heart and that false world — • 



88 HONESTY. [AcrV. 

For we have nought in common now hut form, 
And promise of decay. 

several {pressing round). 
Madam — sweet lady — 

Heaven save you, madam . . . help you — give you strength, 
And shame your hase accusers ! . . . . 

CONFESSOR. 

Hush, my children, 
Plead for her soul. 

JULIA. 

I pray you, do so, friends : 

For this poor body, it is hurt past cure. 

Nor can the ill wherewith I languish now 

Acknowledge one new pang. Hear my last words. 

There is more pain in serpent-slander's tongue 

Than any mortal death. . . . Within this hand, 

(She takes the Confessor's hand.) 
As in a sacred casket, have I lodged 
That dear bequest — mine honour. Heaven shall aid 
To whiten my stained name. Blessing and health, — 
I mean the heart's health, friends, — wait on ye all 
Till next we greet each other. Some poor gift, 
In thought of other days, more fair, perchance, 
Than these have been, I'd fain bestow on ye : 
But they have ta'en all from me, save this robe, 
And my poor waning life .... I come, good father — 
So heartily I do beseech your prayers — 
I have begun to die. [Procession passes on. 

PEMBROKE (to TRAFFORD). 

What would you, man ? 

Why did you catch mine arm ? 



Scene IV.] HONESTY. 89 

tr afford (hoarsely) . 
The world goes on ! 

The sun above us — the green earth below — 
The living, leaping waves — the multitude 
Of human atoms, dancing up and down ; 
All keep their wonted office — and no howl, 
Nor strange eclipse — nor earth-engendered flame. 
Striking the vain, presumptuous souls of men — 
Consorts with what we look on. 

PEMBROKE. 

Guilt should die. 

TRAFFORD. 

It should so ; aye — and blench and quake — not wear 

This martyrish visage. It should not outface 

Even death. I cannot look upon 't. I'll turn 

Mine eyes . . . She was my playmate — Speak — 'tis o'er? 

julia (pauses suddenly). 
I have forgotten something. Father, hold ! 
And you, gentle my executioners, 
Temper your zeal with patience. I must speak 
One moment with my kinsman. 

confessor (interposing). 
Dearest daughter 

JULIA. 

Father, refuse me — and your holy work 
May lack fruition. Drag me not to death, 
Which I reject not, so my soul be freed 
From earthly cumberings which afflict and stay 
Its passion. 

trafford (shrinking away as she advances). 
Back, sirs ! — I withdraw 



90 HONESTY. |Act V. 

PEMBROKE. 

You cannot. 

What ! — are you mad ? 

trafford {attempting to pass). 
The air — the throng — the weight 

Of arms 

Pembroke {detaining him). 
She comes, man. — See, she comes! 

trafford {madly). 
Stand off ! 

Restrain your prisoner ! — I'll not hear her ! — What ! — 
Hold speech with one condemned ? 

JULIA. 

Aye — but alone. 

{Approaches nearer.) Speak, Douglas — have I kept my 
vow? 

trafford {trembling and pale). 
Tis kept. 

JULIA. 

Why, so far — well. But, cousin, I believe 

Your fancy never limned these terrors forth : 

Ne'er dreamed what shameful rings should circle me — 

What fiery tongues should lap my bounding blood — 

And stamp upon my thrice-accursed name 

The brand of such a deed. O, thy revenge 

Stopped short of this — and you, perhaps, but sought 

To prove my woman's faith. If this be so, 

Take off that fatal pledge — unchain my tongue — 

Give back my life and honour. Every breath 

Is thine, that's so bestowed. My wealth regained, 

I will endow a holy monastery, 



Scene V.] HONESTY. 91 

Whence, day by day, shall priestly voices rise 
To win sweet mercy to thy perilled soul — 
Speak, Douglas! — 

trafford {stammering). 
The — the vow ! — To innocence 
Death has no pang. 

JULIA. 

And, to the guilty, life 
No joy. Farewell ! 

trafford {eagerly). 

— pardon — 

JULIA. 

Seek it there. 

{Exit Trafford. 

1 stay the pageant. Well, sirs : I have said. 

\_A distant shout as the scene closes. 



SCENE V.— TRAFFORD'S HOUSE. 
He rushes in distractedly . 



TRAFFORD. 

Mercy ! oh, horror ! Cease — pursue me not, 
Blood-seeking phantom ! W T hat is done, is done 
I cannot save thee — nor my own lost soul 



92 HOiNESTY. [Act V 

From thy denouncement — O, be merciful! 

Gracious thou wert in life — and in thy truth 

Most womanly ! . . . 'Twas nought! I speak to air — 

These childish wailings must be stilled. O heart, 

Watch and be bold — for I am sure our fears 

Take hideous forms to torture us. A step ! — 

Who comes ? [Enter Infelice hastily. 

INFELICE. 

'Tis I, sir. You must to the field — 
Fair sport awaits you. 

TRAFFORD. 

Sport! 

INFELICE. 

To such an arm, 

No more. But haste ! and while you gather on 

[Assists to arm him. 
These sparkling aids to conquest — know, sir, how 
At the last moment — as the white, bare feet 
Of the lost maiden pressed the fatal pile, 
As though the earth had travailed with the load 
Of sin laid on her bosom, there leaped forth 
A gallant champion. 

TRAFFORD. 

Know'st him? 

INFELICE. 

Aye — 'twas Gage. 

TRAFFORD. 

Why, boy, the very glitter of my steel 

Must end that quarrel. Seeks he death from me? 



Scene V.] HONESTY. 93 

INFELICE. 

At least 'twill be an honest end You'll drink 

Ere you go forth ? [Brings cups. 

TR AFFORD. 

I need it not. O Heaven ! 

My brain ! . . . Nay, if thou wilt, I'll taste. My cup 
Tastes sweetest from thy hand — [Drinks deeply. 

Tis cheering — How ? — [Infelice drops the goblet. 

Art sick, boy ? 

INFELICE. 

With a sudden fancy, sir. 

If your abandoned — Infelice — ha ! 

Could she behold your triumph — 

TRAFFORD. 

Let her die! 

And memory perish with her ! 

INFELICE. 

As you say. 

Die truth ! die constancy ! Love ! love's a thing 

To curse — to trample — to forget. — Away ! 

[Exeunt hastily. 



94 HONESTY. [Act V. 



SCENE VI.-SMITHFIELD, AS BEFORE. 

With lists prepared. Judge of the field, Marshals, Sfc. 
Julia and Guards — Pembroke — Gage armed -^ 
and Cyril. 

judge. 

Comes he not yet? 

officer (looking forth). 

Not yet, my lord. He takes 

The summons coldly. 

gage (crosses to JULIA). 

Look around you, love. 

In that strange human ocean — now so still — 

What storm and tempest lower ! What biting rock — 

And hollow, smiling vortex, fill with snares 

The pilgrim's way — that ne'er may peril more 

Our happy, homeward barks. 

julia (in a low voice). 

My heart is broken. 

O, Francis! while my sorrows were my own, 

I bore them ; — now that thou hast made them thine, 

I faint and fail . . . O God ! the foe ! I feel 

His step upon my heart — 

[Enter Trafford and Infelice. 

MARSHAL. 

Would you speak aught 
Ere we give signal ? 



Scene VI.] HONESTY. 95 

trafford {averting his head from julia). 
No. Your part at once, 
And end this mockery. 

marshal (in a loud voice), 
Take your places ! — On ! 
And God defend the right! [Trumpet. They engage. 

trafford (pausing). 
You are wounded. 

GAGE. 

Psha! 

Not felt. Come on, sir. 

TRAFFORD. 

Blood is victory. 

(To the Marshal.) May this conclude ? 

MARSHAL. 

The fight is a Voutrance. 
One must submit. 

GAGE. 

i" do not. To your guard ! [They fight again. 

PEMBROKE. 

His strokes grow feebler — yet he shews no hurt — 
What ails your master, boy? 

INFELICE. 

Sir, there are harms 

Not of the sword. Some hearts may be assailed 

More easily within ; and, we have seen 

Unwholesome drinks may strike 

Pembroke (turning). 
What do you mean ? (Shout.) 
Ha ! — look — 'tis over ! 

[Trafford throws up his arms, and falls. 



96 HONESTY. [Act V. 

TRAFFORD. 

I am slain — but not 

By thee. Tis poison — I am dying — oh ! — 

gage {standing over him). 
Confess, unhappy man. 

marshal {interposing). 
His life is yours. 
But if his guilt be — 

gage {fiercely). 
Back ! — Confess — confess ! 

trafford {raising himself). 
Why, listen, then. I murdered Lancaster! 

[Exit Pembroke. 
And, for my safety, would have strangled her — 
But for that oath which — wretched fool ! — she kept 

Ev'n to the grasp of death O me! — these pangs 

Would search and rend the dearest secret forth 

E'er locked in mortal bosom ! Ha ! a light 

Shoots o'er me Look ! — yon page, that shrinks and 

cowers — 

— haste ye drag him — I must speak — one 

word — 
And to his ear alone — (Infelice is brought near.) 
My faithful page, 

1 have a doubt. Resolve me. 

[Infelice stoops. He snatches her dagger, and stabs her. 

Know from this — 

My Infelice I — dying men see clear. [He dies. 

gage {sinks at julia's feet). 
Spotless and saved ! My task is nearly done — 



Scene VI.] HONESTY. 97 

One word, and then, good night — Tis coming — Hark ! 
[Shouts within — " Pardon! Pardon !" 
Pembroke (rushing in with a parchment). 
Pardoned and free ! [Guards withdraw. 

gage {leans forward). 
O ! . . . . happy ! . . . . 

PEMBROKE. 

All our hearts 

Rejoice with thee, sweet lady. May your years 

Be happy in the land. 

julia (her eyes still fixed on gage). 
I thank you. But 

Here's one should not be silent 'midst the joy 
Himself hath wrought. See you not these good friends 
That crowd to hail your victory ? Up, and hear 
Your grateful 

CYRIL. 

Lady, he has fainted — Hark ! 

What sound ? — 'Tis trickling blood — and he is 

julia (fiercely). 
Peace ! 

Who saw him stricken ? You are mad. This blood 
Is nought — though it hath made him pale. He faints 
From this unwonted toil — But he will speak, 

And soon Look, how he grasps me by the hand ! 

Aye — close — for 'tis thine own .... I pray you all, 
Stand back awhile .... Dear Francis — gallant friend — 
True lover — true alike in sun and shade — 
Thou rest'st on Julia's bosom — Francis — I — 
I tremble at thee Speak — nay, once again ! 

H 



9S HONESTY. [Act V. 

Dost dream ? Art happy ? Lov'st thou me ? 

Alas — 
Still mute ! There looks no spirit from thine eyes, 
Though they dwell on me still — In this great palace, 

The noble tenant slumbers Cold — ah ! — cold — 

This life-bestowing hand Nay, I will look 

No more upon the world. Here — here is mine — 

All's chaos else — all darkness, cloud, and gloom, 

And death — [Kneels down beside him. 

cyril {approaching gently). 
O, comfort, lady ; there's a bliss 
Beyond thy dear affection. 

julia {turns to hinS). 

Cyril Brother! {Bursts into tears.) 

[Curtain falls. 



THE END. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED BY MOYES AND BARCLAY, CASTLE STREET, 

LEICESTER SQUARE. 



Recently published by the same Author, 

THE LORDS OF ELLINGHAM ; 

A DRAMA. 



" It is written with spirit and poetical feeling throughout, and has many 
scenes that would produce a strong effect in the acting." — New Monthly 
Magazine. August 1839. 

" The versification is easy and natural, the sentiments appropriate, and 
the conception of the characters historically just." — Edinburgh Advertiser. 
July 1859. 

" This play, in its general action, is founded on the singular event known 
in history as * Raleigh's Conspiracy ;' but derives its particular interest, 
which is of a most touching and pathetic character, from circumstances 
entirely of the author's own invention. The reader will find it a play of 
stirring interest, written with much ease, delicacy, and force." — Court 
Gazette. 

" The play before us appears written with a degree of talent which we 
did not expect in a writer so totally unknown to us. It is the production of 
a very rich and vivid fancy, and confers very high credit upon this young, 
and hitherto unknown, poet." — Bell's Weekly Messenger. 

" Exhibits a vigour and freedom in the dialogue that sufficiently indicate 
the power to achieve future triumphs."— Monthly Chronicle. 

" With less pretensions, this play possesses more merits than the gene- 
rality of such attempts. We could instance many passages, combining both 
poetic beauty and dramatic interest." — Athenaum. 

" With a strong and fervid vein of poetry, with considerable powers in 
the conception of character, with the ability to stir and awaken the feelings by 
exciting incidents and well-designed situations, the author of the ' Lords of 
Ellingham,' hitherto unknown as a writer or a poet, has produced a drama 
which may certainly rank among the first of modern theatrical compositions. 
.... It is no mean praise to be able to say that Mr. Spicer's style is scarcely 
inferior to that of Otway, of whom he, in several places, reminds us ; nor do 
we know any modern dramatist, with the exception of Joanna Baillie and 
Sheridan Knowles, in a comparison with whom he would not most decidedly 
be superior."— Par thenon. June 29, 1839. 



ALSO, 

LOST AND WON; 

A DRAMA. 



" The date of this drama is the end of the thirteenth century, and the 
country, the characteristics of which it seeks to illustrate, is no other than 
our own. We hope the author will be fortunate enough to get it represented, 
which we are in justice bound to say, it deserves much more than severaJ 
dramatic efforts we have recently seen presented to ' a discriminating 
audience.' " — New Monthly Magazine. 

" The author of this play has already published a tragic piece of very 
striking merit, the ' Lords of Ellingham,' and is one of those • unacted' 
dramatists whose claim to a public hearing will not be thought at all the less 
decisive, because it has been urged with modesty. Mr. Spicer seems to 
think that he can afford to wait till others find out the value of what he has 
done, or may be able to do. He is satisfied that his play should even be 
thought bad or indifferent, if it serves, with others of the same kind, ' even- 
tually to awaken the dormant energies of some in whom the consciousness of 
ability renders their mental sloth the more inexcusable.' But this play is not 
bad and not indifferent. It is too rich in manly and pathetic writing to be 
either." — Examiner. 

" The subject of Mr. Spicer's new drama verges in its main point so 
closely on one or two familiar plays as to keep us in a perpetual fidget lest 
we are about to plunge into a species of interest with which we are already 
somewhat sated, and which, at best, is not very well adapted for the stage. 
But as we advance the dilemma becomes diminished, the fogs clear away, 
and a dangerous plot is ingeniously turned off into a path of unexpected and 
very welcome sunshine .... There are beautiful passages replete with 
dramatic power and poetical feeling. The diction is every where nervous 
and full of that fresh and apt energy which tells with such effect in the 
delivery." — Atlas. 



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